Economy of the Heart
by Jaden Malfoy87
Summary: SEQUEL to The Enemy of Souls. Draco has a problem: his life is a mess. He's helping a Mudblood, and he's forced to play nice with a bunch of blood traitors. But his biggest problem? He's got a secret that could ruin his relationship with Ginny forever.
1. Prologue

**Author Notes: **Well, here it is finally, the sequel! I realize it's been much longer a wait than I had originally anticipated. To make a long story short, I had some plot problems that kept me from jumping right into this story after I'd finished TEoS. There was a huge event that really defined the story, which happened around the middle of the fic, which I decided to take out, because it was really too angsty and depressing (even for me). It touched on some subject matter which I'd rather not get into. But this left me with a huge gaping hole in the plot, which I had to fix. Luckily, I think I've come up with a good solution, and it will even introduce a promising new villain.

That said, I also put off writing this fic for so long because I kept thinking I didn't have enough time. Finally I decided to stop with that excuse and just write it, even if it took me a while. So, chapters for this may not get out as quickly as they did with TEoS. It could be a chapter once every two weeks.

As in TEoS, there is no D/G interaction in this short prologue, though one of them does appear in it. I promise both Draco and Ginny in the next chapter, which should already be posted.

**Prologue**

_September, 2005_

Hermione shifted her bag of groceries into her left arm, struggling to keep a hold of it as she dug for her keys in her pocket. She was so harried, trying to keep a grip on everything as she stood on the stoop outside of her apartment, that she didn't quite realize how easily her key slid back in the lock. In fact, she had already stepped inside and shut the door before she realized that the door hadn't actually _been_ locked.

She didn't have any reason to be on her guard, after all. She supposed there were still many Death Eaters out there who wouldn't mind seeing her dead, but Death Eaters hadn't really been a problem for Hermione for over two years now. When she'd disappeared into the Muggle world after the battle of the Ministry…after Ron had—gone—no one, not even the Death Eaters, had shown any interest in really trying to find her. It was difficult to keep the thought from her mind that, perhaps, this was because the Death Eaters had found what they wanted. That they'd gotten information from Ron, that they'd found Harry. This was something Hermione refused to believe, both because she didn't want to and because it really wasn't likely. Because surely, even as immersed in the Muggle world as Hermione now was, she would have heard if Harry Potter had been defeated.

She hadn't entirely let her guard down, of course. In fact, the main reason she remained so deeply in hiding even now, these two years later, was because she had important work to do, and knew there were many in the wizarding world who would like to hinder that work. She had delved briefly back into the wizarding world, in total secrecy, not ten months ago, in order to obtain a new wand. She'd lived without one for quite a while, and had never encountered any dangerous situation in which she would have needed one. But then, in all that time, she hadn't been actively searching for Harry. As she was now.

Still, she had lived so long without any encounter or threat from the wizarding world that she hadn't thought to bring her wand along on a run to the grocery store. In fact, her wand was currently sitting in her sock drawer in her bedroom—a fact she was all too aware of as she stepped into her apartment, groceries in hand, and found a man standing in her kitchen.

A rush of alarm surged through her, and for a moment, she could only stand there, struck still in panic. But she fought that down and struggled to think, struggled to remain composed. The stranger stood with his back to her, stooped down, peering at the contents of her refridgerator. She hadn't been exactly quiet in shutting the door, yet he didn't seem aware of her presence. So, moving as quickly and silently as she could, she set her groceries down on an armchair. Perhaps she could get down the hall and get to her wand, and maybe—

But then the man straightened and turned around to face her, shutting the fridge door as he did so. And any thoughts Hermione had about her wand flew out of her head, she was so stunned.

Because of all the wizards she might've expected to find in her kitchen, Draco Malfoy was not one of them.

"Hullo, Granger." Malfoy did not sound particularly surprised or even interested to see her; the only expression on his face was a rather familiar smirk. He squinted up at a container of food which he had taken from the refridgerator. "What is this?" He wrinkled his nose. "Some kind of chicken?"

Hermione barely heard this. A sense of alarm was gradually returning to her, seeping past the shock of seeing him here. Sure, the last time she had seen Draco Malfoy, he had been harping off to save Ginny Weasley and his son from a Death Eater-controlled France, but then, his only motives had been regaining his son and winning a few points with the Order in doing so. So now, she could think of only a few reasons Malfoy might have to be tracking her down, and none of them were good.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she demanded, and she was pleased that her voice came out cold and calm, no trace of panic in her tone. "I can't think of any reason you should want to come find me, so you may as well get out before I hex you within an inch of your—"

"Hex me?" Malfoy threw another smirk her way, and now, some of her panic really did dissolve in a wave of annoyance. He picked up something from the kitchen counter, and a moment later, she realized it was a wand. "And how do you propose to do that, Granger? Without a wand? Because if you'll recall, you gave me yours more than two years ago."

Hermione peered at the wand in his hands. "That's not my old wand."

"Well, no. Yours didn't work very well for me, so I got a new one." Malfoy put his wand down and opened the lid of the tupperware container in his hand. He sniffed at the cold food inside it, paused, and then shrugged. "But since you've clearly been living as a Muggle all this time, I doubt you procured a new wand for yourself."

He was wrong about that, but Hermione wasn't going to let him know it. She folded her arms over her chest, nonplussed. "Even without a wand, Malfoy, I'm hardly afraid of you," she said dryly.

"Didn't expect you to be." He raised an eyebrow.

Hermione took a moment to study him. He cut an odd figure in her very small kitchen, examining cold food from her fridge. He was dressed in full Muggle attire, in slacks and a crisp shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. His hair was not so neatly combed as she remembered it being, and while he seemed to be enjoying unsettling her, there was something not nearly as…unpleasant…about him, as he used to be. Normally, she would have expected him to be standing stiffly, dripping with disdain at being in such a small, Muggle establishment, not to mention horror at having to even endure her presence.

And yet…instead, he seemed…adjusted. As though he was quite familiar being in a place like this. And as though he was now used to having to endure the presence of someone he didn't like very much.

"How did you find me?" Hermione asked abruptly, still not moving from where she was, still refusing to take her eyes from him. She was no longer quite alarmed by him being in her apartment, and now, in a more reasonable state of mind, it occurred to her that learning how he had tracked her down was vital. She couldn't have anyone else doing the same thing.

Malfoy shrugged a shoulder. "Ginny," he said laconically, turning his back on her.

Hermione blinked. That was certainly not what she had expected him to say. "Excuse me?"

"Ginny Weasley?" he said, anunciating every syllable as though she were too stupid to understand. "You write her letters. By Muggle post."

"And—you've…read them?" Hermione was still too confused to really piece out what he saying. This was all making less and less sense by the minute.

"Here and there. She doesn't really approve of my reading her mail, so I had to do it in secret, of course."

Hermione huffed in exasperation. "Yes, _most_ people don't like to have their mail read by other people, particularly gits like you! Anyway, I never said anything to Ginny about where I was in those letters, and how did you get your hand on her mail in the first place?"

"Well, it wasn't really that hard," Malfoy drawled, peering down at her microwave. "Seeing as I live with her. And from there, it was a simple matter of visiting a few Muggle post offices, since you send all your mail the Muggle way. And, by the way, it's really very easy to trace mail through the Muggle post office, even if you don't write a return address."

Hermione gaped at him. She wasn't sure which piece of this ridiculous reply shocked her more. No, actually, she did know, and she dealt with it by avoiding the matter entirely for the moment. Instead, she said, "And _you_ actually deigned to visit a Muggle post office? I can't credit it."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Granger—" Malfoy shoved the container of chicken into the microwave, shut it, and then frowned at the buttons "—I've been forced to become rather familiar with some of the Muggle way of things. I even own a television."

"Yes, and you seem entirely sure of how to operate my microwave."

"Well, this one is different thans ours," Malfoy muttered. There was a touch of petulance in his tone, reminding her a bit of the Malfoy she remembered. With a skeptical expression on his face, he punched a few buttons and then stood back, looking satisfied, as he got the machine going.

Hermione stared at him. Instict was telling her, by now, that there really was no threat from Malfoy's being here, though she still had no idea why he had deemed it necessary to find her. Feeling rather resigned to the whole situation, she sighed and perched on the arm of her easy chair. "And what is all this nonsense about you living with Ginny? Do you actually expect me to believe that?"

Now, Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. His flippant smirk was gone from his face, and he eyed her quite seriously. "She takes care of my son," was all he said.

Hermione frowned. "Yes, I remember, before I left, she mentioned she would be taking care of him…while you were in hospital. I'd rather think that had ended by now, though."

"Well, it didn't." Malfoy shrugged, half-turning away from her, and she got the distinct impression that he was uncomfortable about something. "She moved in as my governess. Or something. That's really a term too dignified to be applied to Weasley."

"Malfoy—" Hermione briefly shut her eyes and waved an indifferent hand. All this ridiculous piffle about Ginny living with him aside—she supposed it was _possible_—really didn't matter to her at the moment. "None of this explains what you are _doing_ here. And why."

The microwave went _beep-beep-beep!_ signaling the end of its warming, but Malfoy didn't seem to notice. He leaned forward on the counter, his gaze still sober. "I'm here," he said, "to help you."

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It occurred to me that I never paid you back for giving me your wand and helping me get to Ginny and my son, after the battle at the Ministry," Malfoy said lightly. "And, well, I'm sure you remember how little I like the idea of being in your debt."

"That was a long time ago, Malfoy." Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"And yet somehow, all that time doesn't make me any more comfortable with the idea."

Hermione rubbed a hand over her eyes. "And what exactly do you think _you_ could help me with? And why now, all of a sudden?" Anger welled up in her, frustration at this prat for showing up and upsetting her life like this. Without waiting for his answer, she barreled on, "And why should I trust you, Malfoy? It seems far more likely that this is some kind of Death Eater trick, than that you actually are here to help _me_."

"I'm not a Death Eater anymore," Malfoy said, and she was surprised to hear the adamant note in his quiet words, to see the glittering affront in his eyes.

"You'll always have the Mark," Hermione said coolly.

"Which _doesn't_ make me a Death Eater," Malfoy shot back, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice, as if he didn't quite trust himself. He shook his head and went on, his voice strengthening, "If you don't want my help, you don't have to take it. I can for look Weasley all on my own, thanks."

"I thought you said you lived with Ginny," Hermione said, a trace of irritation coloring her words. "Why should you need to look for her?"

"I'm not talking about _Ginny_, Mudblood. I'm talking about the other one. What's-his-name. Ron."

Hermione felt as if her heart stopped, as if all the blood in her veins turned to ice. She was sure her face had gone absolutely white. Denial washed over her in spades, but it couldn't quite stop the feeling of being bowled over, forcing her to slump sideways into her armchair. "Wh-what?" she said shakily. "Malfoy, what are you talking about? Ron is—" She swallowed. "He's dead."

"Yes, that seems to be the general opinion," Malfoy said, his tone rather blasé. "I have reason to think otherwise."

"Malfoy, this isn't funny."

"I'm not trying to be, Granger."

"What possible—_reason_—" Hermione stopped herself for a moment, pausing to take a deep breath, to try and calm her shaking. "How could you think that?"

In response, Malfoy merely reached into his pocket. Hermione tensed for a moment, before remembering that he'd placed his wand out in the open, on her kitchen counter. Instead, he removed from his pocket a small scrap of parchment. Wordlessly, he came around the counter and crossed to her side in a few short steps and, still silent, handed her the parchment. As soon as it was in her trembling hands, he retreated to the other side of the room. She wasn't sure if this was to make her feel safer, or because he so detested being close to her.

Hermione clenched her teeth together as she spread a hand over the wrinkled parchment, straightening it out. She felt as though she could fly apart at any moment, the pain and sadness she'd locked up inside herself threatening to burst forth. It was actually difficult to force her eyes over the words, taking them in with some confusion. The note on the parchment read—

_Draco,_

_ Should anything happen to me, it lies to you to do this important task. You absolutely must make sure that this vial gets to Potter. I don't care how much you detest him. You must put that aside in this, because if Potter does not receive this information, then none of this will matter._

_ Severus Snape_

Hermione read the note twice before looking up to stare at Malfoy. "This is a note from Snape," she said slowly, wondering if she had missed something.

Malfoy snorted in impatience. "I'm aware, Granger. Turn it over."

Hermione flipped the scrap of parchment over and saw, now, that another, much shorter message was scrawled on the back. Whatever had been used to write it was quite faint, and she squinted to read the words. She read the brief note aloud, "Malfoy, you are a…git. Signed—" She caught her breath "—Ron Weasley," she ended faintly.

"There." Malfoy nodded, though he looked faintly annoyed at being called a git. "You see?"

Hermione couldn't answer for a moment. She stared at the note, scrawled in Ron's sloppy handwriting, she stared at his name—_Ron Weasley —_for several moments before she could finally speak. Then she stared up at Malfoy, frustration mounting within her. "No, Malfoy, I don't _see!_ What—what _is_ this? What does it mean, what—where did you get this?"

"At the old Riddle House—" Malfoy leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen "—in Little Hangleton. Snape hid me out there after sixth year, before it became the Death Eaters' new base for prisoners. He left me that note, along with a vial of his own memories." He shrugged. "When I went back and found the note, though, the vial was gone, and the weasel king had left me that message."

"I don't understand."

Malfoy sighed. "Granger, the Riddle House was Death Eater headquarters for a while. If they took Weasley prisoner after the battle at the Ministry, which seems likely by that note, they would have taken him there. It seems to _me_ that he escaped, stumbled upon that note and the vial, and took off with the vial. Probably to find Potter."

Hermione stared at the note, trying to make sense of this in her mind. "Because _you_ didn't."

"Well, no. Snape never did me any favors, and I wasn't about to lift a finger to help Potter."

"Then you _are_ a git, Malfoy!" Hermione said angrily. "This was obviously important!"

"Well, at the time, I was going to prison, so I didn't much care."

Hermione shook her head. She let her head fall back against the armchair, and shut her eyes. Vestiges of hope were awakening within her, and that frightened her far more than this barmy version of Malfoy showing up at her apartment. "This doesn't mean that he's alive."

"Well, no, he could still be long dead by now." Malfoy shrugged indifferently when Hermione opened her eyes to glare at him for this heartless comment. "But this is the first thing I've seen to convince me that maybe he isn't."

"And if you didn't care then, why should you care now?" Hermione demanded furiously. She forced herself to her feet and took several steps forward, facing Malfoy down. "You've never cared anything about Harry, or me, or Ron. What is this _about_, Malfoy? What's wrong with you?"

Malfoy flinched as if she'd slapped him. An odd look passed over his face, there and gone so quickly that she almost thought she'd imagined it. He looked away. "I told you, didn't I? I owe you, and I don't much care for the idea of you coming to collect whenever you like."

"Malfoy—" Hermione let out a breath of disbelieving laughter "—I gave you my wand. I looked up a missing Portkey in the Ministry's registry! And you want to pay me back for that by doing _this?_" Her eyes narrowed on him, but he was closed to her now, guarded in his profile. "Something else is going on here."

"Think whatever you want, Mudblood," Malfoy said, and his harsh voice sounded much more like his old self. "Do you want to find Ron Weasley or not?"


	2. Chapter One

**Author's Notes:** There was meant to be much more D/G action in this chapter, but it got a bit long, so I had to cut out a scene and put it in the next chapter instead.

Also, I have a new fic journal, where you can find progress updates about upcoming chapters, cookies (tidbits from new chapters), and the occasional meta/extra explanation on characters and events in this story. I also post the fic there, but it doesn't really get posted any earlier or later than it does here. But, feel free to check it out: I can't post the direct link, but the LJ username is rainywinters.

* * *

**Chapter One**

_February, 2006_

Draco sighed, his gaze traveling around the walls and ceiling of Auror Headquarters. He really was becoming far too familiar with this place. At least this time he wasn't in an interrogation room, yet it irked him even more that that was because, today, he was here of his own volition.

He hated cooperating with Aurors. Most of them were bleeding idiots. Yet they had proved necessary, more than once, in the past.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and began drumming his fingers against the desk in front of him. He was beginning to wonder whether this was really worth it, and maybe shouldn't he just up and leave, when that idiot Auror Carmichael finally returned.

"It's about time," Draco grumbled under his breath.

Carmichael let out an annoyed sigh as he seated himself across from Draco. "What was that, Malfoy?"

"Nothing." Draco straightened in his chair. "So? Have I been approved?"

The fact that Carmichael took a second to ponder this question before answering did not bode well; Draco could see this right away. A second later, Carmichael opened his mouth and said, "Malfoy, if you could provide some more information on why you'd like to visit your aunt in Azkaban, then maybe—"

"Information? What more information do you need?" Draco snapped. This was the third time he'd come in here, after being denied a visit to his aunt Bellatrix in Azkaban, and every time, there seemed some reason why he would not be allowed to. It was utterly ridiculous, but then, when the visitor was an ex-convict himself, the damn Ministry could come up with whatever ridiculous edicts they wanted. "She's my aunt. She's family. Why should I need much more reason than that to see her?"

Carmichael sent him a skeptical glance. "Malfoy, considering that Bellatrix Lestrange was largely behind the attack on your manor two summers ago, and the kidnapping of your son—"

"My father kidnapped my son, not my aunt—"

"—and considering that you testified quite strongly against her at her hearing, it seems unlikely that there is any love lost between the two of you," Carmichael finished dryly.

Draco bit his tongue on a biting retort and merely said, "Well, then, perhaps I'd like to tell her exactly what I think of her myself, to her face. Is that enough _information_ for you?"

Carmichael barely seemed to be listening to him. The Auror scratched his chin thoughtfully and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. He evaded Draco's gaze as he spoke, his words coming out slowly. "There seems to be some…concern…that a conversation between you and your aunt could result in some…unpleasantness."

Draco stared at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well—"

"If you're suggesting—" Draco nearly shook at the effort to push back his rising anger "—that I would give some sort of information or aid to my aunt, to help her escape—"

"I should like to think not, Malfoy," Carmichael said, his voice cool and mild. "But I think everyone would be more reassured that you _don't_ mean to do something like that, if you told us the real reason you want to speak with her."

Draco forced himself to sit back, though he still clutched the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled, furious grip. He shut his eyes, quickly thinking this through. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to give _some_ information; he didn't need to get into the details. Draco was, by habit, secretive with Aurors, sometimes simply for the sake of _being_ secretive. In this case, his reasons for secrecy were a bit more substantial, but he could probably give them just enough information to gain him approval to visit Bellatrix.

"Look." Draco opened his eyes and caught Carmichael's gaze before the Auror could glance away. "I don't _want_ to speak with her. She's a deranged lunatic, and I would be perfectly happy to never see her again. But my aunt—as you pointed out—was largely in charge of the Death Eaters, before the raid on the Riddle House put her and a whole lot of them in prison. You know that many of their prisoners were kept in that house, don't you?"

Carmichael nodded wearily, seemingly disinterested in where this was going.

"Well—" Draco shrugged, but left his eyes intently on the Auror's face "—it stands to reason, then, that if anyone has knowledge of…some missing persons…people that might have been taken prisoner and then were killed, or maybe even managed to escape—that it would be her. That she might have such knowledge."

All disinterest had faded from Carmichael's expression. Now he eyed Draco with an air of suspicion and curiosity. "Who are you looking for, Malfoy?"

"No one I care to find," Draco groused, slumping back in his chair. He summoned a familiar scowl to lessen the blow the next words did to him. "I'm just…helping out a friend."

Carmichael stared at him a moment longer before getting to his feet rather abruptly. "Well," he said, his manner and tone all professional indifference, "that may be enough to get you in to see her. But I can tell you that you won't be getting any clearance today, so you may as well be on your way, Malfoy." He paused before turning away, long enough to add, "I dare say you've had enough of your time spent in Auror Headquarters."

Draco gritted his teeth as he came to his feet behind the Auror. "Ginny says hello," he threw after him.

Carmichael flinched. He half-turned back to Draco, but then seemed to think better of it. With a quick nod behind him, he scurried off around the corner.

Draco's annoyance was only somewhat satisfied by the prat's reaction to Ginny's name from his lips. Nearly all of the Aurors here were former coworkers of Ginny, and many of them were also, or had once been, her friends. That git Carmichael, he knew, was one of them. And tossing in a biting reminder that he and Ginny were now…connected…threw them all off-balance, either because it so disturbed them, or because they actually felt guilty for treating him like a criminal when he was…connected…to Ginny.

Of course, most people remained vague and confused as to exactly what kind of 'connection' he and Ginny shared, which was perfectly fine with Draco. He wasn't exactly clear on it himself.

Stifling a frustrated sigh, Draco stalked down the corridor, passing cubicles and curious gazes from the Aurors as he went. He wouldn't admit to himself that it was something of a relief to be past all that attention, when he stepped into the hall outside, the heavy oak doors closing behind him.

Unfortunately, his day hadn't finished screwing with him, it seemed. He was so distracted by his own annoyance, his mind working furiously to find some other way to speak to his aunt to get the information he needed from her, that he wasn't really paying attention as he stepped into the lift—that is to say, he wasn't paying attention to who else was _in_ the lift.

"Good morning, Draco."

Draco glanced around in surprise and realized, to his horror (which he fortunately managed to conceal) that he was alone in the lift with Arthur Weasley. Ginny's father.

"Good morning—er—Mr. Weasley," Draco fumbled. It was a bit awkward speaking over one's shoulder, so Draco hastened back a step or two, so that he was level with the man. Indignation warred within Draco with discomfiture. It was difficult to feel like he needed to be respectful to a man that his father had so despised, that Draco himself had grown up seeing with only sneering contempt, yet circumstances had thus made it so. And there was a part of him—a part of himself that Draco hated—that felt genuinely nervous around Arthur Weasley.

After all, even if he was a poor, disreputable blood traitor, he was the father of the woman who slept in Draco's bed. It was hard to remain cool and composed considering _that._

Without taking his eyes from the lift door, Arthur Weasley said, "What were you doing up on this level of the Ministry?" His tone was mild, but the man had to know what Draco would be doing up on Level Two. Which meant his question was not as innocent as it sounded.

Nevertheless, Draco gritted his teeth and answered, "Speaking to the Aurors."

"Oh?"

Bad enough he'd had to let some of his true intentions slip to Carmichael. He certainly wasn't going to give any real details to Ginny's father. So instead, he came up with the first thing that popped into his head—the reason he was _usually_ pulled into Auror Headquarters. "They were just questioning me about my father's whereabouts again," he said lightly. He extrapolated no more on that. Arthur Weasley would think of Draco as he thought of him, and no amount of excuses on Draco's part would ever change that.

No point in reiterating, as he often found himself doing, that he had no idea where his father was.

"I see," Arthur murmured. Silence fell between them. Draco had the wild thought that perhaps he should try to make further small talk, and then wanted to kick himself for thinking so.

As it was, he was saved from both coming up with something to say _and_ the awkward silence, when the lift slid down past the fifth level, heading down to the sixth. At this point, Arthur actually looked at Draco, and said with genuine surprise, "Not heading to your office?"

Draco was startled into glancing back at him, and for a quick moment, they actually made eye contact. But Draco jerked his gaze away nearly as quickly as Mr. Weasley did. Draco coughed uncomfortably. "I am," he replied. "But I've transferred out of my old department. I'm working in Magical Games and Sports now. Just started yesterday."

Draco _felt_, rather than saw, Arthur Weasley's response to this news, and perhaps he was imagining it, but the man actually seemed disapproving, or suspicious, or something that made Draco even more uncomfortable than he already was. He couldn't imagine why, until Mr. Weasley said, in a rather neutral tone,

"Does Remus know you've left your job in International Magical Cooperation?"

Draco jerked around in shock, and this time, he was well aware that he was staring at Arthur, yet made no move to look away. There was no telling expression on Arthur's face; he looked quite calm. Draco choked back several heated replies before saying, in a rather strained voice, "I don't suppose he does."

"I see," Arthur said quietly. "I wondered, you see, because it was through your job that you were so much help to…Remus and…our other friends."

_The Order_. Of course, that was what he was referring to. Again Draco shoved down another rush of annoyance, yet his words were still quite clipped when he said, "Well, judging by the events surrounding my son's kidnapping, I would say that that entire deception in France proved rather fruitless, anyway."

The lift clattered to a halt on Level Seven, and any reply Mr. Weasley might have made was cut short. The man merely said, "Your stop, Malfoy," as the grille door slid open.

"Thank you," Draco muttered, before practically darting out of the lift and around the corner, away from the man. It wasn't until he was out of sight of the lift at all that he came to a stop and forced himself to breathe.

The bleeding Order. Well, he didn't care what they thought of his leaving his job for something that was probably far less useful to their cause. He hadn't been asked to do anything for them for several months now, and doubted if they ever would again. And he'd like to see them withdraw their protection now that it encompassed Ginny, as well as himself and his two-year old son, Will.

_Ginny_. And her name had never come up between him and Arthur Weasley. No, and he couldn't imagine why it should. What Draco could ever say to the man about Ginny, and vice versa, he had no idea. He shuddered at the very thought of speaking her name in the man's presence.

Draco shut his eyes and let out a long sigh. When had his life become such an unrecognizable mess? Exchanging pleasantries with Arthur Weasley in a lift, voluntarily going into Auror Headquarters to get permission to speak to a mad, evil woman he had no desire to ever see again. And for what?

"_What's wrong with you?"_ Granger had asked him, those two months gone.

"Damned if I know," Draco grumbled to himself.

"Did you say something, Malfoy?"

Draco opened his eyes and found one of his new coworkers—Summerby, he thought the man's name was—eyeing him askance. Well, he was standing in the middle of the hall, talking to himself. Still, Draco snapped, "What's it to you?" and scowled at the man. Summerby practically yelped and sped away down the corridor.

Which made Draco feel a little bit better. But only a little.

* * *

Ginny wrenched awake, torn out of vivid dreams by a pain so visceral, it couldn't be a dream. Before she could even discern the source of the pain, she bit down hard on her pillow, stifling an agonized scream.

The night around her was dark and silent. Malfoy wasn't even snoring; she was only vaguely aware of him, his body a warm reminder of him sleeping beside her. In spite of her sudden return to consciousness, he didn't even stir, which was just as well, because as Ginny shook off the last vestiges of sleep, she realized where the pain was coming from.

Her arm.

Another surge of burning pain awoke in her flesh, like liquid fire racing through her veins. Ginny swallowed another scream; she thought she was going to be sick. Malfoy was beginning to stir now, so somehow, in this agonizing haze, she forced herself to her feet, practically tripping out of the sheets, and half-ran, half-lurched into the bathroom. She tried to shut the door quietly behind her, but in her haste, she was sure she'd made more noise than she wanted to.

She didn't even have the presence of mind to turn the light on. Instead, she merely sank to the floor, the cold tile a small but welcome relief, because the pain was so great now that she couldn't contain it to her arm; her whole body felt on fire, suffused with a killing fever. Now, finally, locked in the bathroom where Malfoy couldn't see her, her right hand flew to her left, clutching her forearm tightly, as if cutting off the blood flow might dampen the agony lacing across her skin.

She allowed her head to fall back against the door, her tangled hair a mess in front of her face. She took a deep, shuddering breath and glanced down. She was afraid to look. Afraid to lift her hand, afraid to pull back her sleeve and see the ugly stain etched into her skin.

But then, Ginny had never really been the kind of person to shy away from something just because she was afraid of it, and after all this time, a sort of morbid curiosity compelled her. Sucking in a breath between clenched teeth, she carefully unfolded her fingers from their grip around her arm and reached for the edge of her sleeve, at her wrist. Bracing herself, she yanked it back in one swift motion.

Her arm was red and scarred, but that was nothing new. A bad hex had left her arm irrevocably burned after escaping from the Ministry with Will, just after he'd been born, two and a half years ago, and a Stinging Hex on top of that, courtesy of Lucius Malfoy, had only worsened the damage. Her arm would always bare the burn scars. But—

Amidst the old, pinkish wounds was a new one. Normally, it wasn't really visible; the lines so faint that they blended in untraceably with the burn scars. Even if one were to examine her arm closely, they might not realize what they were looking at.

But not anymore. Now, anyone could see what Ginny had allowed the Death Eaters to do to her, in the Riddle House, when she'd been willing to let them do anything, anything to get Will out safely. Now, it was as clear as day, even in the dark of the bathroom, because it was burning a bright, fiery red.

The Dark Mark.

Until now, she had almost been able to forget that it was there, that they had done it. After all, the Mark alone didn't make her a Death Eater or any kind of Voldemort supporter; being branded like a cow didn't mean anything, as far as she was concerned. She had never really worked out _why_ they had done it. Lucius Malfoy had seemed to think it would give them some kind of leverage over her, some way to control her—though, really, she suspected Lucius had been stalling for time more than anything else. Not that he cared anything for what happened to Ginny, but she _did_ believe that he was genuinely trying to save his grandson's life.

She hadn't given much thought to what they were doing to her at the time. She would've agreed to anything, and she'd been wholly concentrated on saving Will. In the weeks that followed the incident, once Will and everyone was safe, she had dwelled a little in some worry, wondering if they meant to try and force her to do something for them. Yet even this worry had passed quickly; after all, most of the Death Eaters who had not ended up in Azkaban had fled the country. Too far away to do anything to Ginny. And this had held true, for the past year and a half.

But apparently, it wasn't true anymore.

"Ginny?" Malfoy's voice, slurred with sleep, startled her from the other side of the door. "What's wrong with you?"

Ginny staggered to her feet as best she could, backing away from the bathroom door as if it, too, had suddenly burned white hot. She didn't pull her sleeve back down; it seemed to make the burning worse, intensifying the heat scourging her flesh. But she did clamp her right hand back down over it.

"Nothing," Ginny answered him, pitching her voice loud enough to carry through the door, which wasn't very loud at all, given the thin walls of their apartment. "Just go back to sleep, Malfoy."

"Are you sure? Because you—"

Huffing in annoyance, Ginny lurched forward and opened the door, just a smidge, so that she could see him through the cracked opening. She was all too aware of her burning arm, lying flat against the door. "I'm _fine_, Malfoy," she said irritably. "Can't I get up to use the _loo_ if I want?"

Malfoy's white blond hair was sticking straight up in the back, and his eyes were half-closed in the darkness. Nevertheless, the scowl that passed over his face was quite clear to Ginny. "Well, you woke me up," he grumbled.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she snapped back. "Just go back to sleep, Malfoy."

Evidently, he did not need to be told a third time. Still mumbling to himself, he turned and disappeared into the darkness. Ginny watched him go for only a second before shutting herself in the bathroom again. Then she hesitated. Her exasperation with Malfoy had seemed to overwhelm the pain, but now she realized that it seemed to be fading, the sharp sting dulling until it was no more than a ghosting agony, only alive to her memory. Ginny let out a long, slow breath, feeling a sharp tension leave her body. She glanced down at her arm. The mark was still redder than usual, but no longer glowing like a fiery beacon.

Well. She didn't know why it had begun burning in the first place, but maybe now she could go back to bed and get some sleep—

Not so. Ginny couldn't swallow a gasp as the blistering pain lanced through her arm again. The respite, it seemed, had been a brief one. Ginny practically collapsed back onto the toilet seat, and as she clutched her arm, she doubled over in pain, squeezing her eyes shut.

Apparently, whatever—or _who_ever—was causing this, wasn't done messing with her yet. Ginny bit back another scream and settled in for a long night.

She wasn't sure how long she remained locked in the bathroom, exhausting herself with the effort of not making a sound. She thought it must have been at least an hour, maybe longer, before she finally returned to her bed. At times, the pain had receded like the first time, but it continued to come back until, finally, Ginny started awake and realized she had actually fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. Wearily, she dragged herself to her feet and padded silently back into the bedroom. The pain did not return again, and she slept.

What seemed like a very short time later, daylight began streaming in through the window. Ginny buried herself beneath the blankets and her pillow, but even this did not last long. She thought she'd only slept like that for about ten minutes before someone ripped the pillow away from her and yanked the blankets back.

"What's wrong with you? Are you sick?"

Reluctantly, Ginny peeked an eye open. Malfoy was leaning over her, his pale face inches from her own. The concern on his face looked out of place; she thought it looked more like suspicion than anything else.

"Go away, you prat," she mumbled, closing her eyes and turning her face away from him.

Malfoy huffed. "Do you know what time it is? I have to go to work."

"It can't be that late already," Ginny said, her words half-muffled as she spoke into the mattress.

"You were sick up last night, weren't you? You jumped out of bed so fast, I knew something was wrong. And your face is white." Malfoy lay one of his hands against her forehead. One of his very _cold_ hands. Ginny jerked away.

"Get out of my face, Malfoy," she groaned. She opened her eyes long enough to see him back away from her, frowning irritably.

"Well, if you're sick—" he began.

"Yes. I'm sick," she said. She really did feel like death, after last night, and she was desperate for more sleep.

Now, Malfoy _really_ backed away from her. "Well, you should stay in bed, then. What do I do with Will? Pansy's on holiday until Sunday."

"Just take him to my mum's," Ginny murmured, already slipping back into sleep.

There was a pause. Then, "Do I _have_ to?" Malfoy sounded petulant.

Ginny practically growled in frustration and half-sat up, her eyes flying open. "Malfoy!" She settled him with such a glare that he took another step back, holding one hand up in a gesture of peace.

"All right, all right," he muttered. Ginny didn't even wait to watch him stalk out of the room, but she did hear him say, "C'mon, Will, you're off to the Burrow. Your mum is in no fit state to grace us with her presence today. Not that _I'm_ complaining."

A stab of guilt pierced Ginny; even though she knew Will would be perfectly fine with her mum, he probably didn't like to leave her. Before she could call Malfoy back so that she could say goodbye, however, she heard the front door slam and supposed they had gone.

Ginny lifted her head and sighed. They would probably have to take the Knight Bus; Will was too young to Floo, and there was no other way, if Malfoy really didn't have much time before work. Which meant that she had time to Floo her mum and let her know they were coming. Which she really _should_ do. That way, if any of her brothers were over for breakfast, they could start composing themselves now.

Letting out another groan, Ginny rolled out of bed and headed into the living room.

* * *

When Draco knocked on the front door of the Burrow, Will in tow, he was already in a surly mood. He was annoyed with Ginny for not only being sick, but leaving it so late to let him _know_ this, that he was going to be late for work, needing to take the time to drop Will off here. And a ride on the Knight Bus with a toddler wasn't the best way to begin one's day either.

He was, however, not quite so far gone as to not be relieved that it was Ginny's mother, Molly Weasley, who answered the front door, and not anyone else. Of all Ginny's family—perhaps with the exception of Charlie—Molly Weasley treated him with the most respect. He didn't suppose that she really cared for him all that much, or for the idea of Ginny being so close to him, but she was civil to him, sometimes more than civil—that is, she seemed to try and go out of her way to make him feel like a normal human being, rather than behaving as though he were an evil Death Eater. And she refused to allow any of her sons to treat him like an unwanted hostile in her home.

Draco couldn't really say that he liked her, but it was much easier to tolerate her than any of the other Weasleys. Still, he couldn't really ever be comfortable around her. There was something so distinctly maternal about her; she was a mother in every way, and she mothered everyone, no matter who they were. And Draco couldn't be around her without being reminded of his own mother.

Who was comatose in a hospital room in St. Mungo's.

At any rate, Mrs. Weasley did not seem surprised to see Draco, because apparently, Ginny had Floo'd to let her mother know that they were coming. Some of Draco's annoyance for Ginny lessened at this point, because dropping in unexpectedly on the Weasleys never made Draco's day any easier.

Of course, whether they expected him or not, her brothers never took very well to his being there. And, just his luck, two of them were present that morning—Bill and one of the twins.

Bill Weasley barely glanced up from his paper as Draco came into the kitchen with Will. "Malfoy," he said noncommittally.

"Weasley." Draco gave a curt nod, completing their customary greeting. Draco saw, then, that Bill's daughter, Victoire, was also there, sitting beside him on the floor. Will let out an incomprehensible squeal of delight at seeing Victoire and immediately went to join her on the floor.

"Yes, Fleur's out of the country visiting her parents," Molly said, perhaps in response to Malfoy's spotting Victoire, though he hadn't asked after her. "It's…well, it's a difficult time of year for them, I imagine."

Draco felt as though his heart had dropped straight into his gut and settled there, making him want to heave up his breakfast. Of course. Gabrielle Delacour; it was only a couple of weeks until the second anniversary of her death. Malfoy thought his face must have gone white because he spotted the Weasley twin giving him a strange look. Draco cleared his throat and mentally shook himself; he returned the twin's gaze with an even smile that probably came across more as a smirk. "Good morning…Fred," he said, pausing long enough to quite conspicuously take stock of the man's ears.

"Brilliant, Malfoy," Fred said sarcastically. "You can tell us apart by our ears. Good on you."

"Oh, Fred, even I couldn't always tell you two apart before George's…accident," Molly Weasley said absently, bustling around the kitchen. She tossed Will a nod. "Has he eaten?"

"Yes," Draco said curtly.

"Draco, is your Floo connection still having problems? Only when Ginny called on us here, she was cut off suddenly, and she never Floo'd back," Mrs. Weasley said.

Draco silently cursed himself; if that was true, Ginny was not going to be happy with him when he got home later. Never mind that _she_ was the one who had so insisted on living in a Muggle flat and paying extra for the Floo connection; it was always _his_ fault when it acted up. "It's possible," was the only reply he made. To his horror, he felt faintly embarrassed, and he thought for sure that that either Bill or Fred or both would say something at his expense, but he was wrong; both of them seemed totally engrossed in their breakfast.

_But why not?_ Draco thought bitterly. _They've been poor all their lives; they wouldn't see cause to tease someone over that._ Which made him feel slightly uncomfortable, for some reason. Uncomfortable, and that was all; he certainly did _not_ feel guilty.

"Was Ginny very sick?" Mrs. Weasley had finally stopped flying around the kitchen, though her thoughts still seemed to be flitting from one idea to the other. She hadn't stopped questioning Draco since he'd come in, and all he really wanted to say was 'goodbye' so he could leave. "She's never ill very often. Even as a child, once she was past five I don't think she was sick more than three times that I can remember."

"I don't think she's so bad off." Draco shrugged and went on, without thinking, "I think mostly she wasn't feeling well so she didn't get any sleep. But she was definitely sick up last night, she bolted out of bed so fast for the loo."

A heavy silence met his words. For a moment, Draco didn't realize why. He took in Bill's suddenly white-knuckled grip on his newspaper and Molly Weasley's stiff posture. He stared back blankly at Fred, whose face had gone red with anger and who seemed to be choking back strangled sounds.

Then he realized what he'd said. And to whom he'd said it. And he was sure his face went as red as Fred Weasley's.

"I mean—" Draco fumbled for words "—she…slammed the bathroom door shut so loudly…I'm surprised Will didn't wake…" He trailed off, deciding it was in his best interest to shut his mouth entirely. He was extremely glad that Arthur Weasley was not there to hear him announce that he slept in the same bed as Ginny, though perhaps it wouldn't have been much worse than this, considering that Fred looked as though he was going to kill him.

Of course, it should have been obvious to anyone who had ever been to their apartment that they slept in the same bed; there was, after all, a single bedroom in the place, with the exception of Will's closet-sized room. But Draco was fairly certain that Ginny had given all of her relatives the abbreviated tour of their place, without ever going back into the hallway, so it would not be so obvious after all.

Draco's face felt hot with embarrassment, and he thought his cheeks were probably as red as Fred's, if for a different reason. He was suddenly quite annoyed with himself, quite angry that he was even here, at the Burrow, speaking with a bunch of Weasleys. He was angry that he'd had to put himself in this position, this situation. This was _not_ his life. Or at least, not the way his life was _supposed_ to be.

Stifling a sigh, Draco hastily bid goodbye to his son and left as quickly as he could. He dearly hoped that Ginny would be well enough to pick up Will on her own, by the end of the day.

* * *

As it happened, Ginny was only feeling _worse_ by the time he left work, so he picked up Will himself. Thankfully, no one was there at the Burrow except for Mrs. Weasley, and he got away relatively quickly.

Ginny had a raging headache, by her account, and Draco thought she looked a bit feverish too. He considered sleeping on the couch that night, but since sleeping on the couch was like sleeping on a bed of nails, he decided against it. By the time Draco put Will to sleep and got to bed himself, Ginny had taken a vial of sleeping potion and was out like the dead, breathing slowly and deeply.

Draco himself had had quite a long day, and began to drift asleep almost immediately. He thought he'd even begun to dream when a sharp _clack!_ coming from the outer room jerked him awake. He lay there for a moment, eyes wide open, wondering if he'd imagined the noise—but then he heard a _thud_, the sound of someone knocking into a hard object, followed by a very soft, almost inaudible curse.

Immediately, Draco threw back the covers and sat up straight. He hesitated once, glancing over his shoulder at Ginny, but she was still fast asleep; she hadn't even stirred. Silently, Draco slipped out of the bed, snatching his wand from his bedside table, and padded across the room, out into the corridor. He crept along the wall the few steps to the living room and then peeked around the corner, eyes searching the open space before him. The living room and the kitchen were dark, but Draco's eyes were already adjusted to the blackness, and he had no trouble discerning the tall, dark figure from the rest of the still shadows.

Someone was in the kitchen.

Whoever they were, their back was to Draco, that much was clear. There was really no way to sneak across the room, nothing to hide behind, but then, their apartment was so small that it only took Draco a few swift steps to cross the living room and reach the kitchen. He moved silently, and he was only a few feet away when the figure spun around and saw him.

Draco leveled his wand at the intruder, but his assailant deftly knocked it out of his hands. As the wand clattered to the floor, Draco lunged for the man, but before he could bring him to the ground, the intruder grabbed him by the sleeves of his pajama top and yanked him around, shoving him up against the refrigerator. Draco shoved him back, hard, and the assailant stumbled away, sprawling back onto the kitchen floor with a muttered curse. Unfortunately, he was still holding tightly onto Draco when he fell, so Draco tumbled down with him. He righted himself as quickly as he could, holding the attacker down on the ground. The man spat another curse and hissed, "Get _off_ me, you idiot!"

Draco froze, his grip still tight on the man's arm. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't immediately identify it. He blinked in the darkness, staring down into the man's face for the first time. What he saw made his grip go slack. "It can't be," he whispered.

His attacker kicked free of him and snatched Draco's wand up from where it had fallen on the floor. Draco automatically tensed, but the man simply said "_Lumos_," and a light flared up from the wand, illuminating the space between them, making it perfectly clear to Draco that his eyes had not deceived him.

Draco scrambled to his feet. "Blaise." His voice stuttered out in a hoarse croak.

Scowling, Blaise Zabini shoved himself to his feet, facing Draco. "What's the matter, Malfoy?" he asked, still sounding a little winded from their scuffle. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Which I should think is understandable," Draco retorted, also sounding a little breathless, "since you're supposed to be dead!"

Blaise ran a hand over his head as though to smooth his hair, though it was too short to have gotten mussed much. He leaned back against the small counter behind him, looking complacent. "But you've known that I'm not," he shot back, his voice vehement in spite of his casual pose. "You've known for more than a year now."

"I'll take my wand back, Zabini," Draco said coldly.

Wordlessly, Blaise tossed it back to him. Draco caught it and let his arm fall to his side, but his grip on the wand remained tense.

"What the hell are you _doing_ here?" Draco demanded, his voice pitched low. "And keep your bloody voice down, why don't you!"

Blaise's expression was hard to see in the dim light of the wand, but when he spoke, his words were scornful and mocking. "Afraid I'll wake the baby? Or, no—it's _Weasley_ you don't want to wake up, isn't it? Don't want her seeing that I'm alive?"

"How do you know I haven't told her?" Draco said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"You haven't told her," Blaise said confidently. "And if she hasn't woken up by now, I doubt she's going to."

Given the sleeping potion she had taken, Draco had to agree. Taking his eyes off Blaise for a moment, he turned around and flipped the light on over the sink. It was enough that he could see Blaise clearly, but not enough to light the whole kitchen. "You still haven't answered my question, Zabini. What are you doing here? And how did you even know where I live?" Another thought stopped him dead. "You're not—you're here—does this mean my father's back in the country?"

"No," Blaise said indifferently. He hadn't moved a muscle, leaning against the counter, still but tense. "Though he may be soon, if he decides I'm important enough to come after."

Draco suddenly understood. "You've escaped."

"Yes." Now Blaise straightened, his arms crossed over his chest, and looked Draco straight in the eye. "And you said you'd help me, Draco."

"I never did," Draco scoffed.

"Really? Well, I asked you to help me, and I took your silence for assent."

"I didn't answer you because my father and the others burst in to take you off with them!" Draco snapped. "And once that was done, well, they were gone and so were you, and there wasn't any chance to help you then. Don't act as though I owe you something, Blaise. I don't owe you anything."

Draco remembered that day, the day he'd found out Blaise was alive, all too well. It was the day he'd spent at the Riddle House, the few hours he'd endured, shut up there, after Ginny had escaped with Will and he'd waited for the Aurors to find a way in. His father had showed him, that Blaise was alive, that they were holding him captive, and Draco had realized that it had been _Blaise_ who had freed Ginny, _Blaise_ who had handed Will over to her…

But his father and some of the other Death Eaters had fled the house, before the Aurors had gotten in, and they'd taken Blaise with them. And Draco had tried very hard, from then on, not to think about Blaise Zabini.

Let alone tell anyone that he was alive.

An angry glint came into Blaise's dark eyes. "You don't _owe_ me anything, Malfoy? When I've suffered at the hands of _your_ family, when your father's kept me captive and your aunt's tortured me, tortured _my_ family—"

"That doesn't have anything to do with me," Draco said quietly.

"How _dare_ you say that, Draco," Blaise seethed, his eyes flashing. "You're one of them. Of course it has to do with you."

"I am _not_ one of them," Draco shot back, "and I haven't been for a long time. I had no idea, what was going on with you, all right? Just like anyone else, I had no idea you were even still alive—"

"Oh, right." Blaise stepped back, slumping back against the counter again. He glanced away, studiously eyeing the floor. "That's right. You aren't one of them, you aren't a Death Eater, not anymore. You're living _here_. With your son. With—_Ginny_."

Draco flinched.

"With your happy little family," Blaise said, so quietly that Draco almost didn't hear him.

Guilt—odd, that he should feel guilty—warred with anger within Draco, and anger quickly won out. "Don't pretend as though you still care about Ginny," he burst out, unable to contain himself. "If you ever cared about her at all. She's been thinking you dead all this time, and you never—"

Blaise's words cut into his tirade, as effectively as the serrated edge of a knife. "What do _you_ care about her, Draco?"

Draco stopped short. For a moment, he felt as though he couldn't breathe. Then, "Nothing," he said, struggling very hard to keep his voice calm and indifferent.

"Really."

"Look, she looks after my son, all right? That's the only reason she's here." Draco wasn't sure why he felt he had to defend himself so much, defend his ties to Ginny. It seemed like he was doing that a lot these days, to anyone and everyone.

"And did you know," Blaise said, "that she calls your son _her_ son?"

Draco shrugged, glancing away. "Well, he's never known any other mum."

Silence fell between them. Reluctantly, Draco glanced around, meeting Blaise's gaze. For a moment, they stared at each other, Draco keeping his expression as unreadable as Blaise's own face was. Finally, Blaise broke the silence, looking away and clearing his throat.

"Well, none of that matters now." Blaise shrugged. "I just need your help, Malfoy. And I dare you to refuse."

Draco rubbed a hand over his forehead, frustrated. "What do you need my help for, anyway? You've escaped, haven't you? If you were smart, you'd get away and stay away, and you'll be just fine."

"I can't," Blaise argued. "I have…things…to do here, in England."

"What things?" Draco demanded.

Blaise merely looked at him, his expression scornful, as if to say 'No way I'm telling you.'

Draco sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Well, what do you want? Some kind of protection? If the Death Eaters are after you, the Ministry might help you, you know. Or did you want me to ask the Order—"

"The Ministry," Blaise spat. "The _Order_. The Ministry won't help me, Draco, and as for your _Order_—"

"Then I don't understand what you want me to do," Draco said flatly. "Anyway, why do you think my father or anyone else would come after you? What do they want with you? Why're you so worth it to them? Just because you were out with Ginny that day, in Hogsmeade? That doesn't make any sense."

Blaise stared at him, his gaze slightly incredulous. "Don't tell me you never heard," he said. "Did they hush it all up? Keep it quiet?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Malfoy, my entire family is _dead_," Blaise said, his words clear and deliberate, almost cruel in their bluntness. "The Death Eaters, _your lot_, they killed my entire family. My mum, my sisters, my uncle—_they're all dead._"

"Wh-what?" Draco felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, a sick feeling worming its way through him. "That can't be—when? _Why?_"

"They took my mum, Malfoy." Blaise turned his back on him, stepping away, nearly out of the light from over the sink. His tone was composed, but Draco was sure that if he could see his face, he wouldn't look nearly so calm. "Eight years ago, just before the attack on Hogsmeade. They tortured her, and when she wouldn't talk, they killed my youngest sister in front of her. Then Nadine, my oldest sister, and then—"

"But _why?_" Draco demanded. His voice shook, and he flinched at how loud his words echoed in the small kitchen. More quietly, he said, "What did they want, what information did they want from her?"

Blaise didn't answer right away. He turned around to face Draco, a dead look in his eyes. "Something she didn't know," he said finally, bitter amusement coloring his words. "Something _I_ don't know."

"But what—"

"Anyway, that's why they tried to take me," Blaise went on, either not hearing Draco or ignoring him; it was hard to tell which. "At Hogsmeade, you know. It didn't have anything to do with Ginny, not really. But with the battle going on, everyone distracted, spread out, my mum escaped, and she got me out, too. We went into hiding. We didn't even try to go for Camille." When Draco frowned, he clarified, "My sister. The only one left alive. My mother had heard them talking before she got out, and she knew they already had her. We risked going for my uncle, in France, but he—" Blaise shook his head. "He was dead, too. We got there too late."

Draco slumped back against the sink. "I don't understand," he said numbly. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, well." Blaise shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't matter anymore. They're all dead, my mum included. She was killed when they finally found us, six years after all that. I'm the only one left. And seeing as _your aunt_—" His voice rose, anger in his tone, "—spearheaded all of this, I think you—"

"I get it, I get it, I owe you, whatever," Draco said wearily. "What do you want, a place to stay, a place to hide? You can't stay here, Blaise, that would never work!"

"I know," Blaise said wryly. "Of course not. Can't have Ginny knowing I'm alive."

Draco ignored this. He straightened and began to pace across the kitchen, as much as the tiny space allowed him to. "You could stay at the manor," he said finally. "It's deserted. Under Ministry control now, but they don't check up on the place, not really."

"Yes, but surely they are watching it." Blaise sounded skeptical about this idea. "They'd know if someone got in."

"It's my house, Zabini," Draco snapped. "You think I can't get in without the Ministry knowing? They may have taken it, but I didn't tell them all its secrets, not by half."

"Fine." Blaise fixed him with a hard gaze. "But this better work, Malfoy."

"It will," Draco said shortly. Quite suddenly, he was exhausted; he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his bed, to sleep soundly and forget that any of this ever happened. If only that were possible. "I'll need a few days. In the meantime, you have to get _out_ of here—"

"All right, all right." Blaise was already heading for the door. "I'll send you an owl in two days' time. All right, Malfoy?" There was an edge to his voice, as if he didn't expect Draco to live up to his words.

"All right," Draco said in annoyance. "Get out already."

Like a shadow, Blaise slipped out into the corridor, the door closing almost soundlessly behind him. Draco stared after him a moment before burying his head in his hands. What, in the name of everything magical, was he ever going to do with _this?_

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Please anyone let me know if you're confused at all about the Blaise thing. I have a tendency to half-reveal things and then people are confused :D


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's Chapter Notes:**  
Back with a new chapter! Sorry it's taken so long. I'm quite determined to finish this fic this summer, and it shouldn't even take too long, as I now predict it being a bit shorter than I'd originally thought, and significantly shorter than The Enemy of Souls.

Also – I need your help! Part of the reason this chapter took so long it because I was having trouble with a scene that was supposed to be at the end of this chapter. I threw in some other scenes instead, and it all flows quite well, but that scene I left out absolutely must go in the next chapter, and I've become quite lost as to how it should play out.

So, if you're interested in giving me some suggestions, I'm taking requests - check out my fic journal at livejournal. Username is rainywinters. It's the most recent post. You can reply there or in a review here. Thanks!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Perhaps it was karma, but Ginny _did_ come down sick not two days after the incident with her arm burning. She fought through it at first, not wanting to put anyone out of their way for a second time, but after putting Will down for a nap in the afternoon, she could no longer deny that she was shaky and unnaturally warm, and her head was killing her. It was not so much that she felt unfit to take care of Will, as that, with a fever, she knew she probably _shouldn't_, since he could get sick as well. Which finally triggered the decision to Floo her mother and see if she wouldn't mind coming over.

But when she tried the Floo, the connection wouldn't go through. "Not _again_," Ginny moaned, falling back onto the sofa. This was ridiculous; Malfoy had _said _he would look into it at the Department of Magical Transportation two days ago.

Strictly speaking, fires in Muggle establishments were not meant to be connected to the Floo Network—an all wizarding family living in a house on their own would be fine, but since Ginny and Malfoy lived in a flat, in a building where Muggles lived, it really wasn't supposed to be allowed. Malfoy money, however, still talked, no matter how diminished, and Malfoy influence certainly still talked, so Draco's contacts in the Department of Magical Transportation were able to set them up, especially as it was unlikely any Muggles would ever come into their flat.

But it wasn't always very reliable, and Ginny had never imagined how inconvenient it would be to not be able to rely on the Floo Network, especially living with a baby, when Apparition was not always an option. They had a telephone, but seeing as most people she knew didn't have one, it didn't do much good. Perhaps it was her father's influence, but Ginny had thought it might be a bit cool to sort of live as a Muggle, with a television and a microwave. But electricity and batteries, she'd soon discovered, were not as reliable as magic, and living in close proximity with Muggles limited how much magic they could do. Ginny had actually gotten a warning from the Ministry of Magic several months ago, when she'd done a Warming Charm just before their Muggle landlord had stopped by.

It was getting exhausting, just _living_ in this flat. Ginny rubbed her eyes, wondering what she should do. The headache and fever were not making _thinking_ a very easy thing to do. Malfoy would not be home from work for at least another three hours. In the end, feeling quite stupid about the whole thing, she called one of the few wizards she knew who _did _have a telephone—Dean Thomas, who was Muggleborn, and having many Muggle friends and family, still had use of one. He would likely be at work, but his girlfriend, who lived with him and worked from home, picked up. Feeling stupider by the minute, Ginny asked her to Floo her mother and pass on the message, but then, it turned out her mother wasn't at home, and so, being very apologetic about the whole thing, Ginny asked if she would Floo the twins' flat instead.

Half an hour later, Diana, George's wife, turned up to pick Will up and take him to their flat for the rest of the day. Feeling sicker than ever, after all of that, Ginny collapsed on the sofa and promptly fell asleep.

She was rudely awakened, several hours later, by someone roughly shaking her by the shoulder.

"Weasley! Oy, Weasley! Where the bloody hell is Will?"

"Huh? Wh-what?" Ginny mumbled, turning over onto her stomach. She buried her head in the sofa, hoping whoever was disturbing her would go away and leave her alone.

"Ginny." As he grabbed her by the shoulder to turn her around, Ginny realized that, of course, it was Malfoy, waking her up. "Wake up. _Where is my son?_"

Ginny blinked, opening her eyes reluctantly to stare at Malfoy, who was leaning over her. She couldn't really register his expression beneath the harsh light glaring from overhead, but he sounded faintly panicked. A moment later, she realized why. "Oh—Will. Calm down, Malfoy…Diana took him—to her place—"

"Calm down?" Malfoy echoed. Ginny shut her eyes, wishing she could as effectively shut out his voice, which seemed incredibly loud to her pounding head. "_Calm down?_I get home and he's nowhere to be seen—"

"I'm sorry," Ginny cut in, not really sorry at all. She shoved herself upright on the couch, though her body let out aches of protest. Her tone was as sarcastic as she could manage when she said, "Perhaps I should've left a note!"

"Or, I don't know, Floo'd me?" Malfoy shot back.

"Well, I would've done, if the Floo was working, you prat!" Ginny glared at him balefully. "But it isn't! I thought you were going to see about that two days ago!"

"It's still not working?" Malfoy scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking around at the fireplace with an annoyed expression. He was still dressed in his work robes, though his tie hung a bit askew from around his neck. "How can it not be working? I talked to Foster about it when—"

"Well, maybe you should talk to him again," Ginny said acidly. She stifled a groan and ran a hand over her eyes. Her head was still throbbing, feeling every second as though someone were knocking it against a wall. Her clothes were damp with sweat, and now, she found, her throat was burning, too. She swallowed thickly, wincing at the pain. Ah, if only she could go back to sleep…

But Malfoy was still talking. "…he doing with Diana, anyway? Am I supposed to be comforted by the fact that my son is staying with Fred and George? Because—"

"Diana _too k_him because I don't feel well, Malfoy!" Ginny cried. "And because Pansy is on holiday, my mum wasn't home, and I didn't know who else to ask!"

"I'd rather _Davis _looked after him than the evil duo—"

"Then next time, I'll ask her," Ginny grumbled.

"Well, do I have to go pick him up, then? Because I was supposed to go—"

"No." Fueled by frustration, Ginny pushed herself to her feet. "No, Malfoy, you don't have to take time out of _your_ day to go get him. _I _will go get him, since it's on my way anyway." And with that, she turned and left the room, heading down the short corridor.

Malfoy followed her. "On your way where?" he demanded.

"On my way to the Burrow."

"Why're you going to the Burrow?"

At the door to their bedroom, Ginny wheeled around to face him, glaring so forcefully she thought her head might explode with it. "Because my _mum_, I'm sure, will do a much better job of taking care of me than you could!"

She turned back into the bedroom, slamming the door in his face. For a moment, she slumped against the door, letting her face fall into her hands. She felt shaky and dizzy, and the pain in her head and throat was so bad she could feel tears forming in her eyes. Finally, she took a deep breath, lifted her head, and went to pack a bag for her and Will.

She didn't say goodbye to Malfoy. She Apparated directly out of the bedroom, to Diagon Alley, outside the building which housed the twins' joke shop and their extensive flat. Diana, however, seeing how ill that she was, insisted that she leave Will with her, assuring her that he would be fine with them for the night.

"Yeah, just leave him here, Gin, don't worry about it," George said, hands in his pockets. Fred sat in the kitchen with Will and James (George and Diana's son), supervising their dinner. "Mini Malfoy will be fine with us." He grinned at her.

Ginny shut her eyes. "I trust that only because Diana is here."

"I'm hurt," George said, still grinning. "You don't trust us? Your own brothers?"

Leaving Will's things with them, Ginny left a few minutes later, Apparating home to the Burrow. Only her mother and father were home, and both expressed appropriate concern over Ginny when they realized she was ill. Her mother, as expected, ushered her into the kitchen and instantly began making soup for her, while ordering her husband to retreive a fever-reducing potion from the cabinet.

"I'm sorry to impose, without warning first," Ginny said, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. "But—"

"Don't be silly, Ginny," her mother fussed, busying about the stove. "You can come by anytime, especially if you're not feeling well. But Draco said he thought you weren't so ill, when he came by with Will a few days ago!"

Ginny chanced a glance at her dad, at the mention of Draco stopping by the Burrow, but he seemed wholly engrossed in the _Evening Prophet_. Though she did think his grip on the paper seemed to tighten slightly.

"Well, I was better," Ginny admitted. "But then today, I don't know…" She shook her head.

"Will's at home with Draco, then?" her mother asked.

"Actually, he's staying with the twins." Ginny folded her arms on the tabletop, resting her head on them. "Will, I mean. Diana took him hours ago, so I could get some sleep. And I didn't want to get him sick."

"Oh, of course." Her mother turned, however, and gave her an odd look, planting her hand on her hip. "But where is Draco, then?"

"At home." Ginny lifted her head wearily. "I, er—don't think he's in a very good mood."

At this, her father opened his mouth to speak, but something in the look Ginny shot him obviously made him reconsider. A moment later, he shut his mouth and returned to his paper, as though nothing had happened.

Her mother whipped up some chicken soup in a surprisingly short amount of time, and, as expected, it was just what Ginny needed. It was usually something of a chore to put up with all her mother's fussing and mothering, but feeling so awful, she actually welcomed it. It wasn't just being sick, either. It was…everything. The Floo disconnecting, the insufficient heater in their drafty apartment, the light flickering in the bathroom, and Malfoy…

Ginny firmly put that thought out of her mind. She didn't want to think about Malfoy right now.

Unfortunately, her father wasn't clear on this, because he brought the prat up a moment later. "I ran into Draco at work the other day, " he said, still looking at his paper and not at Ginny. "He was up on my level. He said he's transferred into Magical Games and Sports?"

Ginny nodded, slurping soup from her spoon. She eyed her father out of the corner of her eye. For some reason, his brow was furrowed in an almost…disapproving expression. "Yeah, in the Quidditch division. It pays better than his last job. And it's what he's wanted to do for years."

"Well, then it's good he's doing it," Molly said firmly.

Again, her father opened his mouth to speak, but this time, it was Ginny's mother who shot him a warning look, and again, he closed his mouth and said nothing. Ginny looked between the two of them warily, but she didn't understand what _that _had been about. Perhaps she could sort it out when her brain wasn't so muddled. Just then, however, something her father had said penetrated her thoughts. "Hang on," she said. "What was Malfoy doing up on Level Two, Dad?"

Her father raised his eyebrows. "He said the Aurors were questioning him."

Ginny grumbled into her soup. "About his father."

Arthur Weasley nodded. There was a moment's silence, and then her father said, "You, erm, haven't heard anything, have you—about—"

"Arthur!" her mother cut in.

"Dad." Ginny put her soup spoon down in exasperation. "Don't you think I would've said something if I had? If you'll recall, Lucius Malfoy and I aren't exactly chummy."

"I recall," her father said darkly, no doubt remembering the incident with the diary her first year. "But, well, he _did _try to, er…keep you from some of the other Death Eaters, at the Riddle House, and I thought, maybe you—"

"He only did that for Will and Draco." Squeezing her eyes shut against the foul taste, Ginny gulped her fever-reducing potion down quickly. "Bellatrix's idea was to kill me and use Will as leverage over Draco, whereas Greyback just wanted to kill _all _of us. And Lucius isn't as stupid as all that. He knows what killing me would bring down on him."

"Probably more than he could imagine," her father said grimly.

Ginny felt much better only minutes after taking the potion, but it also made her incredibly drowy, so, with her mother following along behind her, she headed up to her old room and collapsed into bed. She fell asleep immediately.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she woke again, though it was dark outside and the house was still and quiet, so it must have been sometime in the middle of the night. For a moment, she wasn't sure what had woken her. But then a lancing twinge shot through her arm, and she sat straight up, hissing in pain.

The mark on her arm was shining a fiery red again. Biting her lip, Ginny shuddered at the thought of spending another night like she had two nights ago, curled up in agony. But as quickly as it had come, the pain began to fade. Ginny let out a shaky breath as the pain receded, slowly loosening her grip on her arm. Taking another deep breath, she glanced aside, out her window—

Ginny froze, staring out the window. Standing on the lawn, not thirty feet from the house, was a figure, hooded and cloaked all in black. His face was entirely covered, though judging by his height, he was a man. Ginny leapt to her feet without thinking, snatching her wand from her bedside table. Her head let out a small, protesting _throb _at the sudden movement, but for the most part, her headache and sore throat seemed to be gone.

For a moment, Ginny stood stock still, wand in hand, staring at the hooded man standing outside. He stood facing her window, and Ginny felt sure he was watching her. As she stared, the man slowly raised an arm, pointed a finger at Ginny, and then gestured to himself, down below. Ginny understood. He quite plainly wanted her to come outside and join him.

For a moment, Ginny was adamant she would not. How thick did this man think she was? The timing of his appearance—showing up when her Mark burned—combined with his black cloak made it obvious; this man was probably a Death Eater. And he wanted her to come out and _meet _him? But then she thought of her parents, sleeping below, and of all the rest of her family, and what could happen to them if she ignored this man. Surely, if his intention was to attack her, he would've done so? There wasn't really anything stopping him from coming into the house.

She had no choice but to go and see what he wanted.

Quickly, Ginny pulled on some shoes and threw her coat on over her pajamas. Holding her wand tightly in her hand, she slipped down the stairs silently, taking care not to make any noise that would wake her parents.

She left through the front door and went around the house; her window faced the side of the house, to the northeast. Though she knew he was there, Ginny stopped still when she rounded the house and saw him standing there, still a distance away from the house itself.

Swallowing, and making sure she still had a good grip on her wand, Ginny walked towards him, her face set. Ten feet away, she stopped dead. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

For a moment, the man said nothing. Even close up, Ginny could tell nothing about him; his cloak, along with a pair of black gloves, covered every part of him, and she suspected that, even beneath his hood, he was wearing a mask. Then—

"I've been sent," he said, "by Lucius Malfoy."

Ginny stared at him, her blood going cold. The man's voice was deep and oddly gruff, as though he were forcing to make it so, but she hardly noticed. "Lucius Malfoy isn't even in the country," she said, her voice unwavering.

"Not yet," the man said coolly. "But even out of the country, he still has some…influence…here in England."

"Not over me." Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, still clutching her wand tightly. "That's what you mean, isn't it? That even out of the country, he has some hold over me? Well, he doesn't. I don't care where he is, he hasn't—"

"If he's got no hold over you," the man cut in, "then why has your arm been burning?"

Ginny broke off. She supposed she should've known. Of course Lucius Malfoy had been behind it, of course, it had been the Death Eaters, threatening her, communicating with her, in their sick, twisted way. But Ginny remained calm, refusing to let this man see any weakness or anxiety from her. "This?" Coolly, she pulled back her coat sleeve and held her arm up. The Mark wasn't so red anymore, and in the darkness, the man probably couldn't even see it beneath the rest of the burn scars marking her arm. She dropped her arm a moment later. "I don't know what Lucius thought he was doing, putting it on me. I don't know what _you lot _were trying to achieve. But it means nothing."

"There's a way to hide it," the man said suddenly. "I can show you. There's a charm, it'll conceal the Mark."

For a moment, his voice was different, less harsh, and almost…familiar. Unconsciously, Ginny took a few steps forward, peering at the hooded man. "Do I…know you?"

When the man answered, his voice was again gutteral and harsh. "If you did, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, now, would I?"

Ginny shook her head, coming back to herself. "I don't need to hide the bloody Mark," she said irritably, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave this Death Eater and go back into the house to sleep. "In case you couldn't tell, no one can see it anyway."

"Oh, I imagine it becomes pretty visible when it burns," the man said knowingly. "And who knows when that might happen? Next time, it might not be at night, while you're asleep in bed. It might be while you're out to lunch with your mum, or having breakfast at home with…Draco." The man's voice twisted sourly over Draco's name. Ginny wasn't surprised. A lot of the Death Eaters detested Draco, now that he'd turned against them.

"Draco wouldn't care." Ginny let out a scornful laugh. "He has a Mark himself, or didn't you know?"

"Hmm. Then why haven't you told him about it?"

Ginny froze. She realized, suddenly, she wasn't sure how to answer this. She _hadn't _told Draco about it, she'd never said a word. In fact, when he'd pressed her about what had happened in the Riddle House, when he'd wanted to know what they'd done to her, she had refused to tell to him.

This time, it was the Death Eater who took a step closer to her. "Why don't you want him to know, Weasley? What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing," she snapped. "There's just no reason for him to know, that's all. No reason to—"

"In fact, if the Mark means nothing, why haven't you told anyone?" the man asked. He was still coming towards her, and while the practical side of her told her she should back away, the stubborn side refused to do so. "Afraid what you'll be accused of? Afraid of what the Aurors might to do you, what the Ministry—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny scoffed. "No one would believe—"

"Wouldn't they?" The Death Eater stopped, not two feet away from her. "Are you sure? You're in pretty deep these days, Weasley. Thick as thieves with Draco and his son. And don't you think the Aurors don't know you covered for Draco, saying he wasn't the one who told you the Death Eaters' location, at the Riddle House? I mean, after all—" The man let out a short laugh. "Isn't that why we're still standing here, talking? The old Ginny Weasley would've restrained me, called the Aurors—but that could lead to some…unpleasantness…for you and your little family, couldn't it?"

Ginny was shaking, though whether from the man's proximity, from anger, or from the fact that his words were…shockingly accurate…she didn't know. Before he could even think about coming any closer to her, she raised her wand and leveled it at him. "I'll tell you what the old Ginny Weasley would've done," she snapped. "It's exactly what I'll do now if you don't leave. I'll hex you within an inch of your life. There won't be _enough _of you left for the Aurors to come and collect."

To her surprise, the Death Eater laughed again, and for a second, the sound was so familiar that Ginny felt oddly dazed. "Yes, that's true, isn't it?"

"What's true?" Ginny asked.

"That that's what the old Ginny Weasley would've done." He laughed again. "So nothing's really changed then, has it?"

Ginny didn't drop her wand, but she cocked her head, eye narrowing. "Who _are _you?"

"Don't underestimate Lucius Malfoy, Weasley," the Death Eater said, ignoring her question. He took several steps back. "He'll use that Mark to get to you, to use you. I'd be on your guard, if I were you."

And before she could respond, he Disapparated.

* * *

"Tunnels?" Blaise said, wiping dirt off his robes as they came out into a dark room. "_Tunnels? _After all your mysterious talk, Malfoy, I was expecting something more…magical."

"Something _magica l_would likely have set off alarms, you idiot." Draco pushed past him, coming out of the tunnel which led into the kitchen pantry in Malfoy Manor. The tunnel ended out in the woods, much of which covered the grounds outside, at a point past the perimeter the Ministry had set up. "As it is, you're going to have to make do with candles in here. Don't use any magic."

"And I thought staying at Malfoy Manor would be like staying at a palace," Blaise said dryly.

"Well, not now, it isn't," Draco grumbled, moving forward cautiously in the absolute darkness. Although Draco's first night alone in the flat had been a much more miserable experience than he would've thought—he'd tossed and turned, alone, in the bed all night, and in spite of Will's absence, still woke up at six in the morning—the second night that Ginny and Will were gone, he was rather relieved. Because he and Blaise had finalized their plans to get into Malfoy Manor.

"Where are we, anyway?" Blaise demanded.

"The kitchens." Draco slowly pushed open the pantry door and, feeling his way around the doorframe, turned right, into a larger room. Just inside the room, he knelt down, feeling for the cabinets along the right wall. Unfortunately, in the darkness, Blaise must not have seen him stop, for a moment later he collided with Malfoy and tripped, stumbling past him.

"Damn it, Draco, what are you _doing?_"

"If you would just hold still for a moment—" Annoyed, Draco tried to ignore him as he felt around in the cabinet. A second later, he'd found what he was looking for - a few tallow candles. Pulling out the box of matches he'd brought with him, he quickly lit the candles. He pulled out several more, until he'd lit enough of them that he could see Blaise, and the rest of the room, quite clearly.

He glanced around the kitchen and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Although he knew how to get in, Draco hadn't been back here since they'd left, since they'd been forced out, a year and a half ago. He knew Ginny had been more than happy to leave, especially after some of the horrible things that had happened to her here, but he, Draco, had not been all too happy. This place was his home, the only home he'd ever known…

How different his life had become since leaving it. How unrecognizable.

"Fond memories, Draco?" Blaise asked, a smirk on his face. He leaned back against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

Draco snapped back to the present, settling a glare on Blaise. "I didn't come here to talk about the past, Zabini."

"No." Blaise narrowed his eyes. "You came here to let me in. Now, you can leave."

"I don't think so."

"Listen, Malfoy," Blaise said, sounding faintly annoyed, "we weren't exactly the best of friends in school—"

"Too right, you were a snobby pretty boy, and probably still are," Draco cut in. "I'm not staying to chat with you so we can catch up. I want to know what _business _you've got to see to here in England. You've got me caught up in your mess, so you may as well let me know."

Blaise evaded his gaze. "It's nothing. Nothing to concern you, anyway."

A horrible suspicion swooped over Draco. "You're not—you don't—this _business _doesn't have anything to do with Ginny, does it?"

Blaise laughed humorlessly. "Listen to you. Of course it doesn't have anything to do with her," he said, but Draco noticed he still wouldn't look Draco in the eye. "I dated her for a few months, Malfoy. I don't give a flying fig about her."

"Really," Draco said flatly. "You know, she was obsessed with finding out what happened to you. Refused to believe you were dead. She looked for you for _years_."

"Sounds like her problem, not mine." Blaise shrugged indifferently, still studying an invisible spot on the wall.

Draco narrowed his eyes. For some reason, he was beginning to feel very angry. "You know, I've changed my mind. Let's talk memories," he said, watching Blaise closely for a reaction. He stepped forward, looking around, then pointed. "For instance, that counter over there. That's where Ginny gave me a cupcake for my birthday, and then she gave me something much _better _than a cupcake—"

_Bam_. Blaise moved so quickly, Draco scarcely saw him before he'd slugged Draco across the face, knocking him back until he'd stumbled and _slammed _into the cabinets behind him. For a moment, Draco caught a flash of a furious expression on Blaise's face, but then his ears stopped ringing and, when he looked again, Blaise looked quite calm, flexing the fist he'd hit him with.

"Right." Resisting the urge to touch his lip, which he thought was likely bleeding, Draco righted himself, dusting off his robes. "You don't care a flying fig about her. Not at all."

"Why don't you go _home_, Malfoy," Blaise said between gritted teeth. "What I'm up to here is _my _business. It's nothing to do with you." He turned his back on Draco, settling against the far wall, putting distance between them.

"Hang on," Draco said. "There's something else I want to know."

"What _now?_"

"I still don't understand," Draco said, "what could be so important that the Death Eaters have been on you and your family for nearly _eight years_. You said they wanted information, information you and your mum didn't know. What is it?"

Blaise turned back around to face him, his eyes glittering. For a moment, Draco thought he was just going to tell him to stuff it again, but then, abruptly, Blaise said, "Eight years ago, my mum was dating this bloke who worked at Gringotts. He was high up in its administration. They hadn't been dating long, but I'd say he was well on his way to becoming husband number eight."

Draco blinked. "What on earth does that have to do with—"

"I'm _telling _you, Draco, so shut it." Blaise rooted a stool out of the corner and perched on it, facing Draco like a witness at a trial. He looked suddenly tired. "About a month before the Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade, there was—apparently—a break-in at Gringott's."

"I don't remember hearing anything about that." Draco frowned.

Blaise tossed him an exasperated glance. "Well, seeing as you were in _hiding_—"

"Snape brought me the _Daily Prophet _everyday," Draco interrupted. "And surely it would've been reported about, break-ins at Gringott's are rare enough—"

"Well, that's the thing." Blaise shrugged. "It was all hushed up. I don't just mean the press didn't get an in on it, I mean internally, it was hushed up. There wasn't really an investigation, apparently. And _that's _what's rare. As if the goblins would let a break-in slide through—but obviously, someone on the inside, someone powerful enough to do it, shut it all down. Wouldn't let them look into it."

"You're saying…" Draco said slowly. "This bloke your mum was dating? Hushed it all up?"

"That's what they tell me," Blaise said wearily.

"They who?"

"The Death Eaters, of course. I didn't actually know anything about this when it happened. My mum may have been dating him, but I'd only met the man once."

"But what's this got to do with the Death Eaters?" Draco demanded, wishing Blaise would just get to the point already.

"Well, they don't know for sure," Blaise said. "The Death Eaters, I mean—they don't know for sure which vault was broken into. Which is just one ironic bit of this whole thing," he said bitterly. "But they know what sector of the bank it was. And it was in the same sector that houses your aunt's vault, apparently."

Draco shook his head. "My aunt? Bellatrix? So, whoever it was, was trying to break into her vault?"

"They _think_ so, Draco. They don't know for sure. Don't forget that," Blaise said, speaking quietly. "They don't know for sure. This whole thing—killing my family, chasing me, torturing me—it's all based on a _guess_. A mere suspicion."

"If that's true," Draco said slowly, "then it must be important. What was taken from my aunt's vault. But why do they think you—"

"_Nothing_ was taken, Draco. That's what I've gathered, anyhow, between all the hexes and curses I've endured over the past couple of years." Blaise's voice rang with scorn. He shifted uncomfortably on the stool. "Nothing was actually taken. They're not trying to get something back. They just want to know _who_ was trying to break in, and _why_."

"And where do you fit into all of this?" Draco asked, feeling a headache coming on.

"My mum," Blaise said simply. "And that man she was with, the one who worked at Gringott's. He disappeared, you see, not long after the break-in. You see how it looks, Draco? He hushed everything up, then, apparently, went into hiding."

"They think he was in on it," Draco said, instantly putting it together. "They think he knows something, about who broke in, maybe even was part of the plan—"

"Exactly." Blaise leaned back, slumping slightly. "Exactly. And they thought my mum," he said, his words dripping with acrimony, "might know something, too. About where he went. Even about the break-in."

"And she didn't, I gather," Draco said quietly. His mind was still whirring with possibilities, but now, he felt something heavy and unpleasant settle in his gut, realizing, now, what Blaise had been put through, and why. "She didn't know anything."

"Of course not!" Blaise jumped off the stool and stalked across the room, brimming with anger. "I'm sure all my mother knew about him and Gringott's was how much gold he had in his vault! She wouldn't have cared about his business, about his personal life, about anything that could've had something to do with any of this! And _me? _What the hell would I know about where he's gone, what someone was after in your aunt's vault?"

Draco swallowed and stood very still, watching Blaise. He was afraid if he said something, Blaise might slug him again; he looked that furious and unstable, at the moment.

"I've told them that again and again for two bloody years! The only reason they wanted me in the first place was to use me as leverage against my mother, to get _her _to give them information. You'd think they'd realize I wouldn't possibly know anything! But whatever it is, whatever they're worried about, is so damned important to them that they're desperate, they're willing to grasp at anything to get their information!" Blaise rounded on him suddenly, and, unwillingly, Draco took a step back.

"So what is it?" Blaise demanded.

"What's…what?" Draco asked, unnerved.

"What are they so worried about?" There was an odd, desperate look in Blaise's eyes, unlike any expression Draco had ever seen on his face before. "What's in your aunt's vault that's so bloody important?"

Draco shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Blaise. Honestly, I don't. It makes no sense to me, either."

Blaise seemed to deflate. Without another word, he trudged back to the stool and perched there, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

"The thing is—" Draco rubbed a hand across his eyes. "It's not just Bellatrix, right? Whatever this is, my father's worried about it, too."

"Too right he is," Blaise muttered.

"I mean, if it was just my aunt…" Draco started pacing, thinking quickly. "I mean, she's off her bloody rocker. But for my father to be acting this way too…so desperate to get something, anything out of you…he's not nutty, like she is."

He stopped suddenly, facing Blaise. "It's got to be important," he said quietly. "I mean, like, _really _important."

Blaise shrugged. "You're telling me."

They were still for a moment, watching each other intently, and Draco knew Blaise was wondering the same thing he was. But he hadn't a clue. He had no idea what could be in his aunt's vault, what could be so important to her and his father and the Death Eaters, that they would take things this far with Blaise.

"Maybe I can try and find out," Draco said suddenly. "I've been trying to get in to see my aunt—I've wanted to ask her…" Draco trailed off, an idea lighting up in his thoughts. Of course…why hadn't he thought of it before? "Blaise," he said suddenly. "They kept you in the Riddle House, didn't they? That whole time?"

Blaise nodded slowly.

"Did you ever see other prisoners in there?"

Blaise shrugged. "Sure. Why?"

Draco felt his heartbeat quicken with excitement. "Did you ever see Ron Weasley?"

Blaise blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Ron Weasley!" Draco said impatiently. "You know, Ginny's brother? The git that was in love with Potter?"

For a moment, Blaise stared at him as though he'd lost his marbles. "No," he said slowly. "I never saw him. Why, is he missing?"

"Yeah." Now Draco's shoulders slumped. It wasn't like it really would've done any good, if Blaise had seen him; it wouldn't have helped track him down. But it would've been further confirmation that he was alive. "Well, most everyone thinks he's dead. Ginny doesn't, though. I thought she was nutters, but, well, now I have reason to think…" He trailed off. When he came to himself and looked back at Blaise, a moment later, he found him looking at Draco through narrowed eyes.

"What?" Draco asked defensively.

"Why're you so interested in Ron Weasley?"

"I'm not." Draco rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "I'm just looking for him, is all."

"Uh-huh." Blaise folded his arms over his chest. "The thing is, the way I remember things, you'd be jumping for joy to have Potter and his weasel sidekick out of the picture."

"Well, Potter can rot, for all I care," Draco muttered. "Hope he stays gone."

"And Ron Weasley?" Blaise said sarcastically. "What do you care what happens to him?"

"Granger," Draco said suddenly. For some reason, he felt unsettled by this line of questioning.

"Granger?"

"I owe her," Draco said negligently. "And I'm sure you'd like the idea of being in a Mudblood's debt as much as I do. I just want out of it."

In spite of this answer, Blaise continued to eye him skeptically. "Wow," he said flatly. "She must've done something pretty impressive for you to pay her back like this."

Draco scowled. "Oh, what do you care, Zabini?"

Blaise snorted. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? You're not doing this for _Granger_." He sent Draco a very direct look. "This is about Ginny, isn't it?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I thought you were just messing her around." A peculiar look came over Blaise's face. He seemed torn between incredulity, amusement, and dislike for Draco. "And using her, of course, to take care of your kid. But you…you actually care about her, don't you?"

"Don't be stupid, Zabini."

"You have feelings for her."

"I do not."

"You love her." The words came out of Blaise's mouth like an accusation.

"I don't," Draco said quietly.

But Blaise only laughed, only, he didn't sound as though he thought it were very funny. "I don't know why I didn't see this coming," he said, rubbing a hand over his head. "At least, once I'd heard you two were living together. I mean, you always were sort of…funny…about her."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco asked acidly.

"You know, in school. You had a thing for her."

"I did not! That's ridiculous!"

"Oh, come on, Draco." Blaise smirked, though he still looked as though he didn't find this entirely funny. "Everyone knew. Well, everyone with brains, which rules out Crabbe and Goyle. But I knew. Pansy knew—"

"She didn't know anything!" Draco thought he felt himself growing red when he'd realized what he'd just said. "I mean, there wasn't anything to know."

Blaise shook his head. "You're a bloody idiot, Draco." All amusement was gone from him, now; he spoke quietly, sincerely. "You've got the best girl a man could ask for, right in front of you. And you can't even admit you're in love with her."

"The best girl a man could ask for?" Draco said wryly. "And you're telling me you don't care about her anymore. Really."

For a moment, Blaise said nothing. Then he shrugged. "It doesn't matter." He looked up, staring at something in the distance, past Draco. "There's nothing between me and her anymore. And there never will be."

* * *

By the time Draco got back home to their flat in Manchester, it was very late, around midnight. The flat, of course, was completely empty. Ginny was still at the Burrow with Will; this would be his second night spent alone in the flat. He stood in the living room, glumly looking at the bare kitchen, taking in how unnaturally quiet the place was. He tried to tell himself that he missed Will, that he was worried about Will—but if he was truthful with himself, he knew Will would be perfectly fine at the Burrow; he'd stayed there before. _Not _that he wanted Will spending too much time there, but he would be safe there.

No. The lonely pit opening up inside of him was about Ginny. He squashed down the guilt that came up within him when he thought about the row they'd had, the night she'd left. He hadn't _known _she was sick, hadn't realized it when he'd gotten home. And really, the argument they'd had wasn't that different from the sort of arguments they had all the time—but if she was feeling ill, well, then, he supposed yelling at her had probably not been the best thing to do. But he hadn't realized, and he'd gotten home to find Will missing. It was only natural that he'd overreacted a little, wasn't it?

Miserably, Draco fell back onto the sofa. He was trying, very hard, not to think of the things Blaise had said to him, about Ginny, but her absence was so prevalent in his mind that he could think of nothing else.

He hadn't had a _thing_ for her in school, well, not really. She had always been pretty, of course, and he'd noticed; who wouldn't have noticed? But there had been many pretty girls in Hogwarts, and, well, okay, Ginny had been by far the prettiest, in Draco's opinion, but that didn't mean he'd had a _thing _for her.

_"You have feelings for her,"_ Blaise had said. _"You love her."_

Did he? Draco rubbed a hand over his face. For some reason, being all alone in their empty flat made it…easier…to look at that stark question, in a way he had never allowed himself to before. Did he have feelings for her? Well, he'd have to really be in denial to say no to that. He had known that, really, known that for fact since the ordeal with Will's kidnapping and the Death Eaters in the Riddle House. And she had a way of…making everything better…somehow. She clearly meant _somethin g_to him.

But did he _love_ her? What did that even mean? He…felt about her…in a way that he hadn't ever really felt for anyone else. But how was he supposed to know if he _loved_ her? There were very few people in the world that Draco had ever loved, in fact, in pretty much came down to his parents and his son, but how he felt about _them _was clearly different from how he felt about Ginny.

There was a time when he had thought he'd loved Pansy, but he had been thirteen at the time, and he was quite sure, now, that that hadn't been love. More like teenage infatuation and hormones. Because, only about a year later, he'd come to realize that he didn't even really _like_ Pansy all that much, so how could he love her? He liked her _now_, of course, now that she'd got over him too.

If he was in love with her, then surely he should feel jealous that Blaise, clearly, still loved her, even if he tried to pretend otherwise. And, truthfully, Draco did feel jealous. But jealousy was a common emotion from Draco; it didn't take much to make him feel jealous. And besides…

Draco stared doubtfully into the empty fireplace, unsure. The fact was, it wasn't so much knowing that Blaise still loved her that angered him. It was knowing that Blaise still loved her, and yet pretended as though she didn't matter at all. Draco realized how odd it was for something like that to make him angry, and he was puzzled, for a moment, before he realized why it made him angry.

_"You know, she was obsessed with finding out what happened to you,"_ Draco had said. _"Refused to believe you were dead. She looked for you for years."_

_"Sounds like her problem, not mine."_

That made him angry. Blaise's flippant response, his absolute indifference to what Ginny had gone through for him, for what she'd felt for him…

And if he was honest with himself, wasn't he not so much _jealous _of Blaise, but…worried? Worried about him being back, worried about what Ginny might do…might feel…if she found out he was alive?

It worried him because she might leave. And he would let her. The very thought woke a strange sort of ache inside him; he felt almost nauseous at the thought of letting her go. But he would. If she wanted to. If being with Blaise was better for her, if it was what she wanted.

What did that mean?

_I can't feel very strongly about her_, Draco told himself. _If I would let her go like that. I can't love her_. With that thought firmly in mind, he trudged into his bedroom to get to sleep.

But he lay awake for a very long time.

The next day, Draco felt distracted and irritable at work; he didn't get very much done and snapped at everyone he spoke to, even his boss, which was just stupid. He left his office sullenly at the end of the day, grumpily heading down to the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. When he reached it, however, and prepared to Apparate home to his flat, he stopped. He decided, quite suddenly, that he wasn't going to go to his flat.

He was going to see Ginny.

A couple of minutes later, he was knocking on the front door of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley answered, and if she was surprised or upset to see Draco, she didn't show it. She showed him in to the kitchen where he was almost immediately rushed at by Will who, apparently, was just up from a nap. "Dada!" Will said happily, throwing himself at Draco.

"Oof, you're getting too big to hold, Will," Draco said with a smile, lifting his son into his arms. Will grinned cheekily at him. That wasn't quite true, though at close to three years old, Will was no longer a baby, but a sturdy, tiny person. His hair was fair like Draco's—not quite the white blond shade Draco and his father had, but still very light—and his eyes were grey, just like Draco's. He was currently wearing his Falmouth Falcons sweatshirt, which Diana had given him for his birthday, and which he wore quite often.

After spending a few minutes engaging in small talk—very small talk—with his son, Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Draco looked around; he had almost forgotten she was there. "Ginny is upstairs," she said, rather pointedly, Draco thought.

"Right." Draco placed Will back down and said, "Stay here, Will, I've got to go talk with your mum." He carefully avoided Mrs. Weasley's gaze, but he could feel her eyes on him as he crossed the room and went upstairs.

It took him a moment to remember that Ginny's room was on the third landing. Pushing the door open, however, he found that Ginny wasn't there. Frowning, he glanced around. He noticed, then, that the bathroom door, across the hall, was not quite shut, and there appeared to be a light on. Tentatively, he knocked on the door. "Weasley?" he said, slowly pushing the door open.

The small bathroom was warm and muggy, as though someone had just taken a long, hot shower. Draco blinked for a moment before he saw her. She had a towel wrapped around herself, and another wrapped around her head, drying out her hair.

She looked up in alarm when he looked in, but alarm quickly turned to annoyed shock when she realized it was him. "Malfoy! What are you _doing?_" she hissed. He wasn't quite sure why she seemed so embarrassed; he had seen her nearly naked plenty of times, but then she yanked the towel off her head in one, quick motion, and realized that was why. He stifled a laugh.

"Looking for you," he said, answering her question. "You look better."

"Well, I am, the fever's gone, though my throat is still a little—" She broke off suddenly, her expression settled into a glare, and as she stepped up to him, she fixed it on him squarely. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone suddenly cold.

Draco decided to try for the clueless approach. "I came to see you," he said innocently.

"You mean, you came to see _Will_," she said pointedly. Placing a hand on his chest, she pushed him aside and stepped out into the corridor. He followed behind her closely, though she hurried across the hall, likely afraid her mother might see her with Draco, clad only in a towel.

She tried to shut her bedroom door in his face, but he easily pushed it open and stepped in behind her. She tossed him an annoyed look, but continued to ignore him, turning to her closet.

Draco sighed. "Weasley."

"I've nothing to say to you, Malfoy."

"Good, because _I_ have something to say to _you_."

Ginny turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"I'm…" Draco swallowed. "…sorry."

Ginny stared at him for a moment. Then she snorted. "Really," she said flatly.

"Look, I didn't know, all right!" Draco scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I didn't know you weren't feeling well, and then I got home and Will was missing, and, well, I panicked! So I didn't really…_notice_…that you—"

"—looked like I was on death's doorstep?" Ginny said nastily.

"You may have _felt_ that way, Weasley, but you didn't really _look_ that bad," Draco said hopefully. Ginny shot him a knowing look that said _No way am I falling for that kind of flattery._

"And, I was joking, you know, about not wanting Will to stay with the twins—"

"Oh, you were _joking_," Ginny muttered.

"—mostly, anyway, I really _did_ talk to Foster about the Floo on Tuesday, so it should've been fixed, and if it wasn't it's not my fault, he said he would look into it, and I _could _have gone to pick up Will, I wasn't busy, I was just stressed out and—"

"Stressed out about what?" Ginny interrupted.

"Erm—you know. Work," he said, thinking of Blaise, over at the manor. He opened his mouth to continue his explanation, then realized he really had nothing else to say. He had managed much better apologies in the past, but then, he hadn't really given much thought to this before he'd come over.

But he was in luck, because, just then, Ginny sighed, sitting back on her tiny bed, still wrapped in the towel, holding a baggy t-shirt in her hand. "Look, I didn't leave because I was mad at you, Malfoy. Really, I didn't." She shot him a look that was almost guilty, and Draco knew why; an old, forgotten pain pricked at his chest as he thought of it. Ginny _had _left him once, left him because she was more angry at him than he could ever have possibly imagined, and it had been one of the worst days of Draco's life.

"I just felt so _awful_," she continued. "And I just didn't want to have to worry about anything, I just wanted to feel better. I know it sounds stupid, but I just wanted to come here so someone could take care of me—"

"But you shouldn't have to come here for that," Draco said quietly. "_I _can take care of you."

For a moment, Ginny met his gaze. There was something odd in her eyes, a look that was almost…anguished, hurting, yet also wistful—hopeful even. Her face was so raw, so open, and Draco realized, with a start, that he rarely saw that from Ginny…at least, lately, it had become rare.

As if, lately, she didn't want him to see what she was feeling.

A moment later, the look was gone, and her expression wiped blank again. It was odd, that shuttered look coming over her; it was familiar to Draco because he used it so often, but to see it on her was jarring. "Really, it's that stupid flat," she grumbled. "I was so fed up with the Floo—which I _know_ isn't your fault," she added when he opened his mouth to protest a second time. "But it's so drafty, too, which wasn't helping any, and we have to be bloody _careful_ about doing a proper _Warming_ Charm, or the bloody Ministry will send us another bloody _warning_—"

"Only if the landlord's over," Draco said, and then stopped, wondering why on earth he was defending the stupid Muggle flat.

"It's just…" Ginny sighed, running a hand through her wet hair. "I didn't grow up with much, you know. I don't _need_much. But…it's not as easy living in a Muggle place as I thought it would be." She shrugged halfheartedly. "But, well. We'll manage, I guess. It won't seem so bad once it's warmer out, I'm sure."

Draco nodded, not sure what to say.

Ginny looked up then. "Anyway, get _out_, Malfoy, so I can get dressed."

"I'm not stopping you," Draco said innocently.

She hurled one of her pillows at him, but she was smiling. "Get _out_."

Draco shut the door behind him and made his way downstairs. He couldn't keep a smile off his own face; after two days of being miserable and alone, everything felt lighter, brighter. Then he came and spotted Ginny's father sitting at the table, and the smile vanished from his face in an instant.

Arthur Weasley was not smiling, either. "Hello, Draco," he said flatly.

Draco choked out a "hello," desperately thinking of something else constructive to say. He was saved, however, by Molly Weasley, who had been tending to something on the stove and turned around when Draco came down. "Oh, there you are, Draco. I suppose you'll be taking Will with you?"

Draco nodded silently.

"Come help get his stuff together, then," she said, sweeping past him, out of the kitchen, and into the living room. Draco felt a rush of gratitude towards her as he followed her, leaving Mr. Weasley behind in the kitchen. Apparently, saving him from Ginny's father had not been Mrs. Weasley's objective, however.

"I wanted to talk to you," Mrs. Weasley said without preamble, once they were in the living room, "about your townhouse. The one that's been kept from you."

Draco blinked, wondering if he'd heard her correctly. She wasn't looking at him, but instead was picking up Will's toys from the floor. After a moment's pause, Draco slowly bent down to pick up a few himself, and said, "What about it?"

"I was wondering whether you had done anything recently to see about getting around those stipulations put on it," she said, still busying herself with the toys.

"Well…" Draco straightened and shrugged. "I've talked to my attorney about it a few times, but he doesn't seem to think there's any way around the…stipulations." Draco cleared his throat, his voice going a bit hoarse on the word _stipulations_. Which was only understandable, Draco thought, since in this conversation, _stipulations_ was essentially a code word for _marriage_. The townhouse that had been left to Draco could legally be his only if he met certain standards, one of which required him to be married. He met all the other criteria. "Not unless my father were to come back and change them, which, well—"

"—isn't going to happen," Mrs. Weasley said briskly. There was no criticism in her voice, only a matter-of-fact tone.

Draco nodded, though she couldn't see him, as she was currently stacking up Will's books on the sofa, her back to him.

"Well," she said, putting the stack of books onto the small table at the end of the sofa. She turned to face him, then, looking him right in the eye. "Ginny, you know, is a very resilient girl. She can handle herself quite well in a difficult situation. But she's become quite frustrated about your flat, and as that isn't like her, I can only assume that things _are _quite difficult there."

"I suppose," Draco said uncomfortably. "I'm—well, I'm at work a lot, so I suppose she has to deal with more than I do."

"And she says it's quite drafty in the winter," Mrs. Weasley continued. "Which is probably why she came down ill; as I told you before, she never gets sick. And that can't be good for the baby either."

"Right." Draco kept his expression clean, but privately, he was getting a bit annoyed. Where was she going with all of this? What was _he _supposed to do about the bloody flat? Ginny was the one who'd wanted to live there, why was she acting as though it were his—

"Well, perhaps, then, you should consider meeting that last stipulation," she said, interrupting this thoughts. "For the townhouse."

Draco stared at her. _Meeting_ the last stipulation…. Did she mean what he thought she meant? There was no telling by her expression; she merely looked at him a second longer and then turned to pile Will's books into his bag. Draco, meanwhile, simply stood there, struck dumb. She couldn't actually mean…she wouldn't actually _want_…

_Explains why she didn't want her husband to overhear this_, he thought a bit hysterically.

Draco cleared his throat. "Erm—Mrs. Weasley…can I ask you something?"

* * *

Ginny would never have told Malfoy that she was secretly relieved to be back at the flat with him, but she couldn't hide that truth from herself. She was very grateful to her mother for taking care of her, but she knew, before long, that all that mothering would begin to drive her stir-crazy. And besides, the flat was her home.

Well, it wasn't so much the flat that was her home. It was Will…and Draco…that was her home. Even the flat, with its defective Floo connection and drafty walls, didn't seem so bad so long as she had them. In fact, she couldn't help but feel that perhaps she'd overreacted a bit over the flat.

Or maybe she was just trying to convince herself of that.

Well, at least the Floo was back on again, as Ginny evidenced when Pansy Floo'd her, one early evening before Malfoy had gotten home. Pansy had been on holiday until just a couple of days ago, and Ginny hadn't talked to her since before she left. Malfoy, apparently, had.

"Listen, I've got to run, so I can't chat," Pansy said carelessly, her head, framed by her dark, blunt bob of hair, floating in the fireplace. "Draco's not home yet, though, is he?"

"No," Ginny said, tossing a glance over her shoulder to keep an eye on Will, who was tottering towards her.

"Oh, well, you'll just have to tell him for me then—I can't make our dinner tomorrow, I've got to go to my mum's—she's having some kind of dinner party." Pansy made a face, displaying just how much she was not looking forward to this. "He can come with me to _that_, if he wants, but I doubt he'll want to, the prat."

"Wait a minute—" Ginny bent down to lift Will into her arms; he hadn't napped today, and was beginning to get a bit fussy "—what dinner? Malfoy never said—"

"He asked me to go to dinner with him tomorrow," Pansy said, "at that new French restauraunt in London, the one near Picadilly—"

Ginny frowned. "He asked you out on a _date?_"

"Well, not a _date_-date, I'm sure, no need to get jealous, Weasley—"

"I'm not jealous," Ginny said, fully aware that her cross tone indicated otherwise. She _wasn't_ jealous, not really, it was just a bit strange, but then, maybe Malfoy just wanted to catch up with Pansy and hear how her holiday had gone. "It's just—I meant—isn't that restaurant a very _nice _restaurant?"

"Yes, and pricey, so he was probably planning to make me pay." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I've really got to run—just tell him for me, won't you?" And before Ginny could respond, she disappeared, and the flames went quiet.

Ginny stared, for a moment, at the place where her head had been, unsure why she felt so…irked. Then Will gave a whining cry, bringing her back into the present, and she took him into the kitchen to see about making him some dinner.

Malfoy was home quite late; Ginny had already just put Will down for the night when he got in. He seemed oddly distracted, barely saying a word to Ginny, even as she asked him how work had been and told him that Will had missed his nap, and so gone to bed already. It wasn't until she mentioned Pansy that he finally seemed to snap out of it.

"Pansy said what?" he demanded, tossing his cloak onto the sofa, loosening his tie.

"That she couldn't make your _date _tomorrow," Ginny said. She folded her arms and tried very hard to refrain from tapping her foot in irritation. She didn't know what it was, but it was as though Will's sullen mood had affected her, too.

The fact that Malfoy visibly flinched at the word _date_, and then even looked _guilty_, Ginny thought, made it worse. However, he cleared his throat and affixed his usual scowl to his face. "It wasn't a _date_, Weasley, and if she said it was—"

"Well, no, she didn't, exactly—"

"Then what is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Ginny snapped.

"Well, good, then."

"Good."

At which point, Draco exited the room, leaving Ginny feeling even more annoyed, and, not to mention, fairly stupid.

The next morning, Will had a physical exam check-up scheduled at St. Mungo's, which Ginny took him in for. The check-up finished earlier that Ginny had anticipated, and as they were supposed to be meeting Diana for lunch a bit later, they were left with some free time, and nothing to do.

Which gave Ginny an idea.

"Excuse me," Ginny said, speaking to the witch at the reception desk on the ground floor. "I'm—I'm looking for a…patient. I know she's in Spell Damage, but I'm not sure—exactly where—"

"The patient's name?" the witch asked, looking bored.

Ginny hesitated. "Narcissa Malfoy."

The welcome witch did a double take, looking from Ginny to Will, who was on his feet, holding Ginny's hand. It was only for a second, however, and then she said, without needing to consult any records, "Yes, Spell Damage, fourth floor. Janus Thickey Ward."

"Thank you," Ginny said quietly. She hoisted Will into her arms and set off, wondering if the welcome witch was watching her go.

It took a bit of time climbing the stairs to the fourth floor with Will. The Janus Thickey Ward was at the end of the corridor, but as it was locked, Ginny first had to go through the large double doors at the front and find a Healer to escort her in. As the Healer unlocked the door to the ward and let her in, Ginny remembered, with a start, that she had been here before, in her fourth year. They'd found Professor Lockhart here, and seen Neville visiting his parents. The memory unsettled Ginny, and she found herself entering the ward with some trepidation.

As it happened, Malfoy's mother was located down at the end of the ward, just opposite the Longbottoms. As the Healer pulled curtains around to give them some privacy, Ginny slowly seated herself in a chair beside the bed, and looked at Narcissa Malfoy.

Her pale face looked even paler than Ginny remembered, though she had only ever seen the woman once, at the Quidditch World Cup, and she barely remembered her. Never even in her post as an Auror had she had any dealings with Narcissa Malfoy. Ginny only remembered her as somewhat of a haughty woman, though now, of course, she didn't look that way at all. She looked as though she were only sleeping, her blond hair framing her face. There were dark circles underneath her eyes, and she looked quite thin.

As the Healer finished arranging the curtains around them, Ginny said, in a near-whisper, "Can she hear us?"

"We're not sure," the Healer said. "But it can't hurt to talk to her."

Ginny swallowed. "Will—will she ever get better?"

The Healer spared her a sad smile. "It doesn't seem likely," she said, "though of course, we're still looking for a way to help her."

She left then, leaving Will and Ginny quite alone with Narcissa Malfoy. Will was unusually quiet, standing beside Ginny's chair; he only looked at Narcissa solemnly.

Ginny cleared her throat and looked at him. "This is your grandmother, Will. Can you say hello?"

Will looked at her uncertainly—perhaps wondering why they should say hello to a woman who was asleep—but then looked back at Narcissa and said, quite clearly, "Hello."

They did not stay long. Ginny thought perhaps she should talk to Narcissa, because who knew, maybe it would help, but truthfully she was too unnerved and could think of nothing to say. It was ridiculous, because the woman was comatose and therefore, Ginny could say whatever she liked without fear of a reaction—yet even still, this was Malfoy's mother. Ginny felt unspeakably sorry for her, but had she been awake and well, they would never have gotten along. They sat there in silence for a brief time, before the memories of Draco weeping over his mother were too much for Ginny to bear, and they left.

Ginny wisked Will out of the ward rather hastily, and as they stepped out into the corridor, they nearly ran headlong into someone.

"Oh, goodness me, _do _be careful, there."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Ginny trailed off, eyeing the woman who stood before her. She was quite sure she had never seen this woman before, yet there was something…familiar…in her face. Her eyes were a piercing, stormy blue, and were latched onto Ginny with a severe gaze. She was a tall, formidable-looking woman, dressed in fine robes beneath an expensive-looking coat with gold buttons. Her hair was completely white, and pulled back in a sleek knot on the top of her head.

"Ah," she said. Her voice was perfectly poised, and, looking Ginny up and down, she held herself with a somewhat satisfied air. "You must be Ginny Weasley." Her gaze snapped towards Will, whom Ginny was holding, for the briefest of seconds, and then back to Ginny.

Ginny frowned. "I'm sorry, do—I don't—"

"Oh, we don't know each other, dear." The woman gave a tinkling laugh that was somehow cold. "So no need to worry that you've forgotten your manners. But I believe you knew my daughter—Carina?"

Ginny thought her heart had stopped. "Carina?"

"Lillian Moon." The woman held out a hand, covered in a fur-lined glove. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."

Despite her words, she did not sound at all delighted; there was a sharp edge to her voice. A smile lingered at the corner of her mouth, but it was a calculating smile, and her eyes glittered shrewdly. Rather than shaking her hand, Ginny stared at the woman, frozen, fighting back alarm.

She certainly had never met Carina's mother before, but Draco had mentioned her once. She recalled his words now with complete clarity: _She makes my mother look like a ray of sunshine. My father too, for that matter_, he had said. _She's not a Death Eater…but she's as good as. Her sympathies have always lain in that direction, anyway. So she can't be trusted with Will._

He had said it. _She can't be trusted with Will._

Ginny fought the urge to take a step back. Lillian Moon had barely spared Will a glance, her eyes fixed on Ginny's face, but recognizing Ginny, having any interest in her at all, made Ginny sure that she knew very well who she held in her arms.

When Ginny failed to shake her hand, Lillian dropped her own and said, in a dry voice, "Well, I suppose I should have known better than to expect manners from a Weasley."

"I'm sorry." Ginny forced herself to remain calm, composed. "You took me by surprise, is all."

"Did I?" And now, Lillian's eyes moved and settled on Will. "Well. I suppose this, then, must be my grandson."

Will eyed the woman curiously as Ginny swallowed. "Haven't you—I mean, you've never—"

"I've never met him, Miss Weasley, as I'm sure you know," Lillian said coolly. "I told Draco, in no uncertain terms, that I had absolutely no interest in his son, and he seemed quite relieved, to tell you the truth. I've no doubt he's shared that with you." Her mouth twisted a bit when she said this last part, as though the idea of Draco and Ginny sharing anything disgusted her.

"May I ask why?" Ginny asked, matching the woman's even tone. "Why you have no interest in him, I mean?"

"Not that it's any of your business—"

"Actually, it is," Ginny said, unable to hold back.

Lillian Moon raised an eyebrow. "Really? And how is that? Are you related to the boy in any way? Have you adopted him?"

"No," Ginny said.

"Well, perhaps you ought to before you claim him to be any of your business." Lillian sniffed and adjusted her designer-label handbag, hung casually from the crook of her elbow.

Ginny stared at her for a moment, biting back a number of hot replies. She didn't open her mouth until she trusted herself to say something civil. "Perhaps I will," she said, striving for a light tone.

"Though I do wonder," Lillian said, "what my poor daughter would have said to a blood traitor raising her child."

"Carina was my friend," Ginny snapped.

"I find that hard to believe," Lillian said, a touch of scorn in her voice. "She never mentioned you to me."

"Well, no, I don't imagine she would've mentioned me—or any friends she might've had like me—to you," Ginny said, regaining some of her composure. "Given your views on Muggleborns."

Lillian laughed that cold, tinkling little laugh again. "I'm no Death Eater, dear."

"You don't need to be," Ginny retorted, "to be a bigot."

Any trace of a smile vanished from Lillian Moon's face, and her blue eyes went as hard as diamonds. "Funny that someone like you should take such an attitude," she said coldly. "Someone, that is, who's shacked up with Draco Malfoy."

Ginny shifted Will in her arms instinctively, as though to keep Will from hearing any bad remarks about his father. "He's changed," she said shortly.

"Has he?" Lillian's tone was quite dismissive, as though she didn't think very much of this. "I can hardly credit

that. Perhaps you, Miss Weasley, are the one who's changed. Compromised _your _views on Muggleborns, your…self-righteous…attitude."

"You don't know me," Ginny snapped.

"Oh, I don't need to, dear." Lillian's eyes left Ginny's face, traveling, once again, to Will. "I know _of _you. That tells me more than enough."

For a moment, she continued to study Will, her face utterly expressionless. Ginny opened her mouth to make a retort, but before she could, Lillian said abruptly, "I've no interest in this boy, Miss Weasley, because he's the bastard son of a Malfoy, and the Malfoys are far from the respectable family they once were." Her words rang with contempt. "And were my daughter alive, my opinion would be no different." With these words, she turned on her heel and marched down the corridor, disappearing at a stately pace down the stairs.

Ginny stared after her, dread pooling in her gut. She let out a long breath, trying to calm herself, her anger, her nerves. Will put a hand on Ginny's cheek, as if to reassure her, and she forced a smile on her face, looking at him. The smile disappeared, however, when she realized that Lillian Moon had not entered the ward as she had seemed to be intending to, when she'd first run into Ginny. Which begged the question—what had she been doing there in the first place?

* * *

Draco slogged through the fresh snow covering the road leading out from the high street, cursing under his breath. Snow. _Snow_. It was now March, and it had snowed. Bloody Manchester.

Since Pansy had been unable to make their dinner date a few days before, he'd quickly rescheduled and met up with her at a small restaurant they often frequented in town, not far from Draco's flat. Normally he wouldn't have bothered, but as Draco was quite impatient to talk to Pansy about…some things…he'd rescheduled as soon as she was available.

She hadn't said anything he hadn't expected, he supposed, and had even given him some good advice, yet he found himself in a grumpy mood. The snow, and the fact that he had to walk through it, didn't help. He couldn't Apparate into the flat or, really, anywhere very near it, as there were so many Muggles around, and he was only a few blocks away, so there was no point anyway. But it still irked him.

He turned down a narrow side street, leaving the bustling high street behind. A couple passed by him, heading for the high street, and a gang of teenagers were walking by on the other side of the road, but otherwise, it was quiet and still. Draco walked down a ways before turning into a deserted alleyway. It was a shortcut he knew, and usually empty, as it was now, which suited Draco just fine. No Muggles around.

He walked for some time down the alley. The only light came from a dim lampost, which Draco had left behind him several paces. Darkness stretched out in front of him, sliced here and there by slivers of moonlight. Draco was so lost in thought that he barely noticed, and anyway, he'd traveled this way many times before. It may have been dark out, but it was not very late.

But then, something made him stop. He wasn't really sure why, only that the back of his neck was prickling, as if in warning. He stood still for a moment, listening, then turned and looked around him. Nothing. He couldn't hear a thing, and there was no one there.

Shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably, he turned back and kept walking. But he'd only taken a few steps when, from around the corner up ahead, something came rushing at him in the darkness.

Draco stifled a yelp and instinctively jumped back, but the…_thing_…coming at him was nothing more than something silvery and almost vaporous, riding through the air on some invisible wind. Then the silvery thing stopped right before him, and Draco realized it hadn't been traveling on the wind at all, but on its own.

It was a Patronus. A Patronus in the shape of an otter.

Draco stared at it for a moment and then, quite distinctly, it spoke.

_"Do not go home. Death Eaters at your flat."_

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**  
Remember, check out my fic journal (.com) for details on how you can help me write the next chapter!


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Notes: **I realize before I said that this fic would be significantly shorter than its predeccesor, _The Enemy of Souls. _That's not entirely true, actually. I didn't take into account the fact that the chapters I write now are much longer than most of the chapers in TEoS. TEoS is 19 chapters, and the first ten or so are about half the size of the chapters I write now. So, in terms of word count, this fic will still be shorter than TEoS likely, but not incredibly shorter. Just much shorter chapter-wise.

Thanks to everyone who helped by giving me suggestions and input for Chapter 3! I'll talk more about that at my fic journal once this chapter and Chapter 4 are up, but really, everyone who gave input helped by kind of letting me know where they perceive D&G are right now and where they should be.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

For a moment, Draco stared at the Patronus, and the Patronus seemed to stare at him. Everything was quiet and still in the dark alley. Then the Patronus shimmered and evaporated, leaving nothing of itself behind.

Nervously, Draco cast a glance up the alley. _Death Eaters?_ At his flat? But how, and why? True, their flat was not particularly guarded against Death Eaters, but none of them had come after him since the events at the Riddle House; after _that _incident, they had all either gone to Azkaban or fled the country. What were they doing at his flat? That was only two blocks from here…

And who…? He had no idea who cast an otter Patronus…but that voice, the voice it had spoken with…

Suddenly, a not-so-distant _crash_ sounded out, breaking the stillness, followed by a shout. Taking out his wand, Draco stared at the end of the alley, the direction in which the Patronus had come from. After a moment's hesitation, he inched forward carefully down the alley. He had just reached the end, and just bent to peer around the corner, when another_ clattering_, like that of a metal rubbish bin knocked over, sounded out. Draco hadn't even fully looked around when a flash of red light lit the air, and someone screamed.

Realizing all at once that this commotion was coming towards him, Draco swallowed a yelp and turned and ran, back the way he had come. He ducked quickly behind a large pile of boxes and waited, struggling to breathe quietly. A moment later, another cry sounded out, though this time, Draco heard its words, quite clearly—

"_Impendimenta!_"

—and then the sound of rapid footsteps, someone running, came down the alley, heading his way. Draco swallowed, clutching his wand tightly. A few seconds later, a small-ish figure with a large head of hair ran past him. Draco waited, and then, sure enough, another set of running footsteps came to his ears, heavier and a bit slower, also heading down this way. Draco listened intently, gauging the distance. Three—two—one—

The pursuer took a running step just past Draco's hiding place, and Draco stuck his wand out and yelled, "_Stupefy!_"

The man fell to the ground, face-first, with a _thud_. Up ahead, the person he'd been chasing came to a halt, just short of rounding the corner ahead, and turned back. Throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one else was coming, Draco got to his feet warily, feeling out of breath.

The person—the _woman_—he'd just saved stared at him. "Malfoy?"

Draco sighed. He'd been hoping he was wrong, hoping the voice he'd heard from that otter hadn't been who he thought it was. Because, for all that he was helping her, she really was not one of his favorite people. "Hullo, Granger," he drawled. "I got your message."

Hermione Granger stepped forward, coming back into the alley. Her bushy hair was disheveled, well, more disheveled than usual anyway, and one of her sleeves had slipped off her shoulder, as though someone had grabbed at her and tugged. She wasn't wearing a coat or even a sweater, and her cheeks were flushed with the cold. "Then you know we need to get away from here," she said breathlessly. "That one—" With her wand, she pointed at the man Draco had Stunned, still unconscious on the street between them, "—came after chasing me, but there were three more, either still at your flat or coming after me, so—"

"Granger—" Draco huffed an impatient sigh, wondering where he should start. "What're Death Eaters doing at my flat? What were _you_ doing at my flat? What are you even doing _here_, in Manchester?"

"I was looking for you, of course," Granger said, just as impatient. "I was hoping—but never mind that now, we have to get away from here, isn't there someplace—safe—we can go?"

Draco scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Well, we can go to Grimmauld Place—"

"How do _you _know about Grimmauld Place?" she demanded, interrupting him.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Draco rolled his eyes. "In addition to shacking up with Ginny, I've also been inducted into the bloody Order. Now, I thought you said we need to go and—"

"Wait." Granger held up a hand to stop him, shaking her head. "You're in the—" She stopped herself. "Whatever. We don't have time for this. But Grimmauld Place, are Tracey Davis and Adrian Pucey still living there? And there might be other Order members there—"

"Yes, so what?" Draco said irritably.

"Malfoy, no one else can know that I'm here! We can't go to Grimmauld Place if they'll see me, that's not safe enough!"

"What does it matter if they know you're here?" Draco groused.

"Malfoy, we don't have _time_—"

"Fine." Draco shut his eyes, taking a deep breath in the hopes of calming himself. It didn't really work. "Fine. I—there's someplace else. Someplace else safe we can go," he grumbled. Then his eyes flew open. "But, Ginny, we have to see to her first, and Will—"

"They weren't at the flat," Granger said, tossing an anxious glance over his shoulder, down the alley. "There was no one there, so maybe—"

"No, she was going to have dinner with Bill and Fleur." Draco raked a hand over his hair.

"Well, she'll be fine, then—"

"She's there _now_," Draco pointed out, frustrated. "But what if she leaves, what if she tries to come home, we have to warn her—"

"They're at Shell Cottage?" Granger interrupted. When Draco nodded, she said promptly, "Fine, let's go, then." And without waiting for him, she turned on the spot and disappeared with a loud _crack_.

Swearing under his breath, Draco quickly followed her, Apparating to the beach off Shell Cottage. The dark alley and the fallen Death Eater disappeared, and soon he was standing on an equally-dark shore, the gentle sound of water lapping against rock the only noise he could hear. He cast a glance around him, but everything was dark, save for the lights a distance away, marking the house, Shell Cottage. Draco wanted to run to it and make sure Ginny was there, make sure that she and Will stayed there, but he suppressed that impulse and cast another glance around. "Granger? Granger! Are you here?"

"I'm here, Malfoy." Draco whirled around and squinted into the darkness, but he still couldn't see her.

"Where are you?" he demanded.

"I've cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself," she said. Her voice came out quite distinctly, not three paces from him, but he still couldn't see a thing. "I'll run up to the house and look in the window, all right? Just wait here."

Cursing again, Draco folded his arms and waited petulantly. He couldn't see a trace of Granger as she, presumably, ran over to the house to look in. He couldn't see a damn thing. A couple of minutes later, however, she appeared out of the darkness directly in front of him, her wand held over her head as she lifted the Disillusionment Charm.

"She's there," Granger said. "They're all sitting at the table, eating."

"We still need to warn her," Draco argued. "Look, I'll just go up there and—"

"And what?" Granger said shrilly, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "Malfoy, if you go in there, it's going to raise some questions you don't have answers to yet, and besides that, you likely won't be able to leave. And I…" She grimaced. "I…need…you, to take me someplace where I can hide." She sounded as though she deeply regretted admitting this.

Draco sighed. "Well, then, send your Patronus up there with a warning. Like you did with me."

"I can't do it," she said, looking alarmed. "They'll know it's from me! I could tell you how to do it, I suppose—"

"I know how to do it," Draco grumbled, raising his wand. "Told you, I've done work for the Order. I had to learn how to do this." He cast his Patronus with a warning not to go back to their flat. It materialized for a moment in the air, then shot off, a silvery streak in the darkness.

Granger pursed her lips, staring off after it for a moment. "Was that…a ferret?"

"Don't say a word, Granger," Draco snarled. "Let's just go." Trying not to flinch, he tentatively held out his hand to her, determinedly looking the other way.

"What are you doing?" Granger asked, sounding astonished.

"Well, you don't know how to get there, do you? You'll have to Side-Along Apparate. With me." He let out a long-suffering sigh.

The moment Granger took his hand, he turned on the spot, and they left the beach behind. Draco could only hope that Ginny wouldn't be stupid to try and go tearing off to the flat to investigate. Or rather, he could only hope that Bill would be able to keep her from doing so.

A second later, they were standing out in a dark, wooded area. Draco snatched his hand out of Granger's as soon as they touched down. As he surreptitiously wiped his hand on his slacks, Granger glanced around, squinting. "Where are we?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Just outside Wiltshire."

She turned to him, blinking in surprise. "Your manor?"

"Just outside the grounds." Draco turned away from her and began tramping through the forest, searching for the entrance to the tunnel which led into the manor. He paused for a moment, looking over his shoulder at her. "Why don't you want anyone knowing you're here, anyway?"

Granger caught his eyes for a moment, looking startled, before she looked away. "I just don't," she said quietly. "I'm not—I'm not coming back here. To all of them, I mean. Not unless Ron…" She inhaled sharply, as though saying his name were painful. "I just don't want to get their hopes up if…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're assuming they'd be happy to see you."

"I was talking about Ron," she snapped. "I just—I don't think I couldn't _not_tell them, that he could—" She stopped. "Never mind."

A moment later, Draco had located the entrance, and they went deep down under the earth, crossing through the tunnel, into the manor. Draco had told Granger about Malfoy Manor, and why he didn't have it anymore, months ago, when she had demanded to know about he and Ginny living together, so she didn't question now why they were sneaking in this way. They said nothing to each other as they hurried down the tunnel, even though it took more than a half hour to reach the end of it. Finally, the tunnel sloped upwards, coming out into a tiny cellar.

As the two of them crawled out into the small room, Draco looked around at Granger. "Er—listen. You're going to have to share your hiding place."

"What?" Granger's eyes flashed as she dusted off her clothes. "Malfoy, I told you I don't want anyone—"

"Trust me." Draco tried for a smirk, but was sure it came off as more of a grimace. "This person won't care if you're back or if the weasel king is alive, all right?" Without waiting for another objection, he turned and climbed the ladder that led up to the trapdoor in the kitchen pantry.

"Who is it?" Granger demanded, climbing up behind him. "Is this person in hiding, too? But what are they doing here? Malfoy, I swear, if you've got some Death Eater in hiding here—"

"As if I'd lock you and a Death Eater up in a room together," Draco said scathingly. "Not that I'm worried about _you_, but who knows what you'd do to him."

"Then who—"

She broke off as they came out of the pantry and stepped around the corner. Draco stopped abruptly, as he'd found himself on the wrong end of Blaise Zabini's wand, leveled at his chest. "Hold off, Zabini, it's only me!" he hissed.

To his left and slightly behind him, he could hear Granger spluttering. "But—what—how—he—you—"

Blaise instantly switched his wand from Draco to Granger, his eyes narrowing on her. "What is _she _doing here, Malfoy? No one can know that I'm here!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "The pair of you, honestly…"

"But you're—dead!" Granger gasped. "You—everyone thought—after Hogsmeade—_how _are you not dead?"

"No one can know she's here, either," Draco cut in. "Put your bloody wand down, Zabini, and let us in, why don't you?"

Still looking extremely distrustfully at both of them, Blaise reluctantly lowered his wand and took a step back. Draco started forward, then paused and took Granger by the arm, yanking her into the kitchen with him. She yelped, her eyes wide, still staring at Blaise as though he were some bogie out of a child's fairy tale.

"Now, listen up, both of you," Draco said harshly, practically tossing Granger into the middle of the kitchen. Blaise retreated to the far wall, an ugly expression on his face. "We're going to run through this fast, all right? Because I have to get out of here, and I still want some answers out of Granger here before I go. Blaise—" he said, turning to look at Granger, "—is not dead. Never has been. The Death Eaters killed his whole family, he went into hiding, they kidnapped him, he escaped. Now he's here. Got it?"

Granger made a whimpering sort of sound that might have been a 'yes.'

"Granger," he continued, turning to Blaise, "doesn't want any of her buddies to know that she's back in town, or that we think Ron Weasley might be alive. Don't ask me why, she's got some weird, noble intentions or something. Either way, it seems there are Death Eaters after her, as well, so she's staying here. All right?"

"She bloody well isn't staying here," Blaise growled.

Ignoring him, Draco turned back to Granger. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two men, finally coming to rest on Blaise. "Ginny…always said…" She trailed off and took a few steps back, sinking onto a stool beside the cabinets. "She always thought you were alive," she said hoarsely, dropping her head in her hands.

"I've been told," Blaise said shortly.

"Granger," Draco snapped, turning to face her head-on. "What were the Death Eaters doing in my flat? Were they after me, or Ginny? Or my son? Do you know?"

Granger looked up slowly, lowering her hands. "I—after _you_?" She sounded confused. "No…no, Malfoy, they followed _me _there. I don't think they wanted anything to do with you."

Rather than feeling calmed by this, a hint of panic hitched in his throat. "What do you mean, they followed you there?"

"They found me. At _my _flat," she clarified. "Four of them. They grabbed at me before I had a chance to do much more than get my wand, but I tried to Apparate anyway. Only two of them managed to come along with me, and, well—I Apparated into your flat."

Blaise sneered, looking at Draco. "Don't you have any wards on that place, Draco?"

"It's a Muggle flat, we're not allowed—" Draco ran his hands through his hair, roughing it up. "You Apparated directly into my flat? How did you even know—"

"I—I've been there before." Granger cast him a quick, guilty look. "A few months ago, after you came to see me. I just wanted to see if you were telling the truth, about you and Ginny, so I…I found out where you lived, and, well—no one was home," she tacked on defensively, as if that made it okay to break into his flat. "I was in and out."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he would wake up and find this all to be a bad, bad dream. "So you Apparated into my flat," he said, breathing through his nostrils in an attempt to remain composed. "Two Death Eaters came with you. And…?"

"Well, one of them got splinched, a bit, but he wasn't that bad off, and he—he sort of took a quick look around and then Disapparated." She swallowed. "Likely back to my flat, to tell the other two where I'd gone…the other Death Eater was still holding onto me, but I managed to fight him off a bit, and I…ran." She shook her head. "I could've Apparated again, but I thought I should warn you, so once I'd left your flat and put some distance between me and the Death Eater, I sent you that Patronus. Only then, he caught up with me, and, well…" She shrugged. "You know the rest."

Draco stared at her. For a moment, he was struck speechless. He exchanged a glance with Blaise, whose eyes were glittering with half-amusement, half-exasperation. Finally Draco groaned, letting his head fall into one of his hands. "_Why_—" He shook his head. "_Why_ did you Apparate into _my _flat?"

"Well—well, I sort of panicked, and—you were the first thing I thought of!" Granger's voice sounded a bit pinched, but she stared him down resolutely. "I didn't have a lot of time to think about it, and as you're the only person from the wizarding world I've spoken to in over a year—"

"Don't you understand what you've done!" Draco snarled. "No Death Eaters have come after me, after _us_, since they took my son nearly two years ago! They've left us alone! Only now, with you going to my flat, they're going to think I'm helping you! Helping Potter, even! They'll think I know where he is—"

"I wouldn't go _that _far—" Granger protested.

"I would." Draco threw Blaise a knowing glance. "They can be extremely paranoid, trust me." He expected Blaise to agree with him at this, but the man was shaking his head, a sardonic expression in his eyes.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"You can't blame Granger for this," Blaise said.

Granger goggled at him. "Excuse me?"

"What do you mean, I can't _blame _her?" Draco said, wondering if Blaise had finally lost his marbles.

"I mean, yeah, she's likely brought them down on you now." Blaise shrugged. "But you should be grateful it's happened like this, when you weren't home, and now you've been given some warning."

"What are you on about?" Draco demanded.

"Draco, you can't possibly think you were actually _safe _from them," Blaise said scornfully. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Just because they hadn't come after you lately? Well, yeah, most of them got thrown in Azkaban, or else left the country. But that wasn't going to last. They were always going to come after you again, and you're naïve to think otherwise."

"But why—"

"Because they _hate_ you, you idiot! I don't think you really grasp how much they all _loathe_ you." Blaise's eyes flashed for a moment, going dark. "But I heard enough, locked up in the Riddle House, to understand the general sentiment surrounding you. With the exception of your father and his few, remaining cronies, they'd all love nothing more than to do you in. Oh, there might be a few who still think you could be _useful_," he spat. "Now that you're all chummy with the Order. But that only gives those few incentive to continue to try and take your son, to use against you. Or Ginny, for that matter," he threw in.

Draco stared at him, dread pooling in his gut. He didn't want to admit it, to say it aloud, but Blaise was right, and he felt an idiot for thinking they'd ever been close to safe in that Muggle flat, with no defenses, nothing to guard them against attack. "But my father—" he worked out.

"You know very well your father has next to no influence with anyone, anymore," Blaise cut in. "Trust me. They were always going to come after you." He shrugged. "Now you've got a bit of time to work out how to keep yourself safe."

Draco rubbed a hand over his eyes. Granger had gone quiet, looking tentatively between the two of them. In spite of Blaise's words, Draco shot her a glare before straightening. "Well, whatever the reason, I've got to go. Can I trust you two not to kill each other if I leave you alone?" he asked pointedly. "No magic, remember, or the Minsitry will be down on both of you quicker than you can say '_Stupefy_.'"

"I'm not going to hurt her," Blaise drawled, but Granger shot to her feet, looking at Draco in concern.

"But where are you going?" she demanded.

"To my flat," he said impatiently. "I need to—"

"You can't go back there! The Death Eaters could still be there!"

"Ginny or Bill or whoever will have alerted the Aurors, assuming they got my warning," Draco cut in. "I doubt the Death Eaters are still there, and if they are, they'll be in Auror custody—"

"And how are you going to explain to those Aurors, or Ginny, or anyone else, for that matter, where you've been since you sent that warning?" she said furiously. "By the time you get back out that tunnel, it'll have been nearly two hours since you sent that Patronus. And you _can't _tell them you were bringing me here—"

"I'm clear on that, thanks," he said coldly. "I'll them there was a Death Eater on my tail—"

"And it took you _this _long to shake him?" She shook her head. "No, you can't go back there. Not straight away, anyhow. Maybe…" She bit her lip. "If you went to Grimmauld Place…but Tracey and Pucey will be there. But if you got in past them…" She trailed off, looking frustrated. "No, I can't see how that will work."

Blaise had come to attention suddenly, looking intrigued. "Tracey Davis?" he echoed. "And Adrian Pucey? Are at this…Grimmauld Place, or whatever?"

Granger nodded absently. Draco turned to him, eyes narrowed. "What're you thinking, Blaise?"

"Well, Davis and Pucey…" Blaise shrugged. "Just ask them to cover for you. They'll do it. You don't have to tell them why."

Granger looked up with a frown. "I'd hardly think so," she said. "They're in the Order, they'll want to know what you're up to! They won't lie for you just because you ask."

Draco was still eyeing Blaise. "Yes, they will," he said slowly.

"I can't see why—" Granger broke off, looking exasperated. "What is this, some—some—Slytherin House code, or something?"

Blaise smirked at her. "Something like that."

"I'll go there, then." When Granger shot him an warning look, he said, in irritation, "Don't _worry_, Granger. Whatever happens, I won't tell them about you. But this is the best option, yeah?" Without waiting for an answer, he shot Blaise one last glance. "No funny business, I mean it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Blaise said dryly. "Now get out of here, why don't you."

It took Draco, again, more than half an hour to get back out of the tunnel and into the woods, just outside the manor's perimeter. As soon as he was out, he Apparated, straight onto the top step outside the front door of Grimmauld Place. He glanced around behind him nervously. He didn't see anyone watching the place, but you couldn't be too careful. Hastily, he slipped inside the door and into the dark hallway within.

He headed down to the kitchen, where he knew he'd most likely find Davis or Pucey. He didn't want to call out to them for fear of waking the screeching portrait, even if the Black family matriarch did seem to approve of him being there. Instead, he went quietly into the kitchen where, to his relief, he found both Davis and Pucey. The former was pacing across the room, while Adrian sat at the kitchen counter in silence, staring at the fireplace.

Davis spotted him first. Her green eyes went wide and she let out a little shriek, as if he were a ghost. Pucey looked around immediately, but he seemed to relax when he saw who it was. "Malfoy, thank Merlin," he said, getting to his feet and coming around the table. "Everyone's been looking for you. They told us—"

"Who told you what?" Draco interrupted, coming into the room. "And when?"

Adrian blinked at these questions, but Tracey stepped forward, eyeing him suspiciously. "Lupin contacted us almost two hours ago," she said. "He told us you'd sent Ginny a warning about Death Eaters at your flat. How did—"

"And you haven't talked to anyone since then?" Draco demanded, looking between the two of them. Davis broke off, glaring at him, so Draco turned his full attention on Pucey. "Well? Have you?"

"No," Pucey said slowly. He stood completely still, looking at Draco with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Why?"

Draco looked between the two of them and took a deep breath. "Because as far as you're both concerned," he said, "I've been here for more than an hour. This whole time."

Pucey and Davis exchanged a glance, and Davis folded her arms over her chest. "Why?" she asked bluntly. "What've you been up to, Draco?"

"None of your business," Draco said shortly.

"Then why should we lie for you?" Adrian asked with a sigh.

Draco leveled his gaze at him. "You really have to ask?"

The two of them stared at each other, silence stretching between them. Tracey eyed them uncertainly before bursting out, "Look, we work for the Order now! We can't just lie to Lupin and whoever else about you not being here! Especially as you're so in with the Death Eaters—"

"Look, I swear," Draco said, cutting her off. "This has nothing to do with the Death Eaters. I wasn't doing anything…dangerous, or…bad…all right?" He hesitated. "I was just helping out a friend. A friend," he added, when Davis opened her mouth again, "who prefers to remain anonymous."

"Not a Death Eater friend?" Pucey asked swiftly.

"No." Draco looked him in the eye. "I swear."

For a moment, Pucey only looked at him, as though weighing him up. Then, "Fine," he said shortly. "We'll keep your secret."

"We will?" Davis said glumly.

"Yes," Pucey said firmly, shooting her a look.

Davis sighed. "Oh, but—"

They all jumped as the empty fireplace suddenly roared to life, green flames springing up within it. A second later, a head appeared in the flames—Remus Lupin. Draco hadn't seen him in a while, which was to his liking.

"Have either of you—Draco!" Lupin's gaze snapped to him. "Oh, good, you're there, we were beginning to—where have you been?" he asked, his tone almost stern. "Ginny's been out of her mind."

"Where is she?" Draco asked quickly.

"Still at Shell Cottage," Lupin said. "It seemed safest for her to stay there for now. Will, too," he added, when Draco opened his mouth to ask. "They're safe. Where have you been? Ginny says you sent her your Patronus nearly two hours ago."

Draco hesitated, almost shooting Pucey a look out of the corner of his eye. "I—"

"He's been here for more than an hour, Remus," Tracey said, coming forward. "Sorry, we should've contacted you straight off, but he was…injured…I mean, nothing too bad, but we were a bit distracted, he was telling us—"

"A couple of Death Eaters were on my tail," Draco cut in. "I had a time of it losing them. But I've been here. Sorry." He didn't bother to sound _too_sorry; Lupin wouldn't expect it of him.

"All right." Lupin's brow was furrowed, but he didn't seem suspicious. "Well, if you're all right now, Draco, you should go back to your flat. The Death Eaters are gone and Tonks is there, with some other Aurors. They'll want to talk to you, I expect. Have you any idea what they were doing there? Now, I mean?"

Draco shrugged. "I expect the same old business," he said. "But I don't know for sure."

"All right. I'll talk to you about it later," Lupin said. A second later, he was gone, and the flames died down until they'd disappeared.

Draco scowled. Just what he needed, a friendly chat with the werewolf. "I'd better go, then," he said, already heading out of the kitchen. At the doorway, he paused, looking over his shoulder. "Thanks," he said curtly.

"No problem," Pucey said.

Just ouside Grimmauld Place, he Disapparated, back to Manchester, to his flat. As he appeared on the dootstep outside their building, he shook his head, catching himself for a moment. All this Apparating had him dizzy.

He hurried inside and up the stairs to his flat. Two Aurors stood outside, conversing quietly with each other; they looked up with hard faces as Draco came down the corridor towards them. "Tonks inside?" he asked, before they could say anything. One of them nodded, and he pushed past them, into the flat, shutting the door behind him.

There were two more Aurors inside, looking around, and that was besides Tonks, who stood in the kitchen, surveying the scene before her. A lamp was in shattered pieces on the floor beside the sofa, and Will's highchair was on its side, sprawled across the floor, along with a few small books that had been sitting on its tray.

"You might want to let someone know," Draco said by way of greeting, approaching Tonks, "I Apparated straight here. I know the Ministry doesn't like it, but it seemed prudent, given the circumstances."

Tonks waved a hand. Her hair, he noticed, was bright blue and spiky this evening. "Obliviators are on their way, anyhow, they'll have to question everyone in the building, I'm sure."

Draco nodded, trying to appear unbothered by this. He hoped none of the Muggles had seen Granger running out of here.

"So." Tonks leveled a direct look at him. "I won't ask you where you've been—"

"Good, because I'm not telling."

"—because I suspect Remus already has."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, he wants to have a chat with me later."

"What happened here?" Tonks asked, getting right to the point. She gestured about the flat with her wand. "Start at the beginning. You were here when the Death Eaters got here?"

"No," Draco said truthfully. "I'd been out with Pansy, I'd just gotten back. They were here when I got home—" And now came the lies. "Waiting for me, I guess."

"Did they say anything to you?"

Draco shook his head. "Maybe they were going to, but as soon as I saw them, I made a run for it. One of them chased after me. At one point, I put enough distance between us to send a warning to Ginny. Otherwise, I led that Death Eater on a merry chase," he grumbled, trying to sound annoyed by it. "I kept Apparating, but he kept getting a hold of me. Finally shook him and went to Grimmauld Place. Seemed safest."

Tonks nodded. Her face was impassive, but Draco thought she'd bought his story. She had no reason not to. "Any idea why they were here?" she said abruptly. "Anything at all? Why've they left you alone for so long? Why come after you now?"

"That's what I was wondering," Draco said sourly. He dropped into one of the chairs at their small table, just off the kitchen. "But, well…this could be some of the ones that fled after the Riddle House two summers ago. Maybe they're filtering back now," he said glumly.

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "If that's true," she said, "you can't stay here anymore."

Draco only looked at her.

"This flat," she said pointedly. "It's not safe here, Draco."

He stared out over the wrecked living room. "I'm aware."

She shrugged. "You could stay at Grimmauld Place."

Draco glared at her. "I'm not living there."

For a moment, there was a mischievous gleam in Tonks' eyes. "But Sirius' mum so loves having you there."

Draco snorted in disgust and looked away.

"Look, seriously, if you don't want to live there, fine. I mean, it's not like I don't understand why," she muttered. "But you need a place as good. A wizarding place. Large, if you can swing it. Something you can make Unplottable, and someplace you can put up Anti-Apparition wards and other spells to keep people out. Might even want to consider doing the Fideluius Charm, but of course, that could get a bit tricky, so only if you really think you'd need it…"

She went on, but Draco was only half-listening. As it happened, there was such a place, a place he'd thought of immediately. A place, in fact, that he'd been thinking about for the past several days. It didn't have all that defensive magic on it now, but it could be managed. And, best of all, it wouldn't cost a penny.

It would cost something else, however.

"I have a townhouse," Draco said abruptly.

Tonks broke off, looking at him in surprise. "A what?"

"A townhouse. It's in my name, so it wasn't confiscated with everything else," he said, drumming his fingers on the table. "I suppose they'd take it if I tried to sell it, or something. But I can live there."

"What I want to know is," Tonks said, nonplussed, "why aren't you living there _already_, you prat."

Draco hesitated, then plunged on, "Because I have to be married to live there."

Tonks stared at him incredulously.

"I know." He waved a miserable hand. "Weird, pureblood family nonsense. You know, it ensures an heir, and all that."

"You have an heir."

"Yes, well, my father set the stipulations, and no amount of common sense can get them changed," Draco said glumly. "Only he can. Which isn't likely to happen anytime soon, given that he's probably in Tanzania or Ecquador or someplace equally distant from here."

Tonks didn't reply; she only looked at him. They were both silent for a moment, and Draco was sure they were contemplating the same thing. Finally, before Draco could think about it too much, he opened his mouth and said, "What do you think—" He swallowed "—if I were to ask Ginny to marry me?"

Tonks continued to simply look at him, but, for a moment, her lips twitched.

"Don't laugh," Draco warned her.

"Right, no." Her lips twitched again, and a small bubble of laughter issued forth from them before she got her expression straight again. "Sorry. Um. Well. It's an…interesting thought."

Draco rolled his eyes and looked away from her, absently watching the Aurors who were detailing every inch of the flat. "I mean, it makes sense, right?" he said suddenly. "I mean, you said it yourself. It's not safe here, and any other place _like _this wouldn't be safe either, and it's not like we can really afford much else. Well, all right, I get paid more than I did back when we rented out here, but not that much more. I mean, how else are we going to get a place that defensible, right?"

"Have you talked to your solicitor about this? Maybe find a way around these, er—stipulations?"

"I've been doing that for the past year and a half, Tonks," he said wearily.

Tonks paused. "Are you _sure _you don't want to live at Grimmauld Place?" she asked, almost hopefully.

Draco turned and glared at her. "Do you have some problem with me marrying Ginny?"

"Well, no, not really." Tonks pursed her lips. "Not personally, I mean. You're a, er—decent enough bloke, and Ginny can look after herself—"

"You make it sound as if I'm going to murder her or something," Draco muttered.

"It's just—Malfoy—" Tonks crossed her arms over her chest. "Is there—any _other _reason—besides getting this house—that you'd want to ask her to marry you?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Tonks shot him an exasperated look. "I mean," she said impatiently, "that where you come from, marrying someone to gain money or land might be the usual thing to do, and might be all you know—"

"Why does everyone think that?" Draco objected. "My dad loved my mum, I'll have you know!"

"Fine, then, you've hit the nail on the coffin," Tonks said bluntly. "Do _you _love Ginny?"

He hadn't expected her to come right out and say it. He blinked, feeling as though he'd been smacked around the face. "Er—what?" he said weakly. "I mean—well—what does that matter? We're just talking about a business arrangement here, and—I mean, it's not like anything would really _change_, you know, we already live together, and, you know, there's Will, and I'm his dad, and she's his mum, and—"

"I know all that," Tonks interrupted. "But, Draco—"

"And she'd probably be glad of it, even if there wasn't this whole safety issue thing!" Draco carried on. "I mean, she hates this flat! It's cheap—well, cheaper than she's used to, I mean, and the Floo never works, and it's drafty, and she wants out of here more than I do! So surely she'd be okay with—"

"Draco." Tonks crossed the few steps through the kitchen and came to face him over the small table. "I get all that. And Ginny certainly has a practical streak that will see all that, and agree with all that. But she _deserves_ more than that. So all I'm saying is, if there's even a tiny part of you that—wants more, or that feels…anything…about her—you need to tell her that. You should include _that_. If you do propose to her."

Draco tried not to choke on the word 'propose.'

* * *

Ginny rubbed a hand over her forehead, pausing for a moment to slump over the nightstand in the bedroom Fleur had shown her to. Malfoy had finally arrived a little while ago, done speaking with Tonks and other Aurors at their flat. When they'd received his Patronus warning over dinner, they had immediately contacted Lupin and Tonks, who had been able to put the Order on alert, and get Aurors to their flat straight away. Unfortunately, none of the Death Eaters had been caught, and it seemed safest to stay put at Shell Cottage for the night.

Ginny was too exhausted to think about where they were going to go tomorrow.

_Bam_.

Ginny jumped around, nearly snatching up her wand before she saw who had just barged into the room. "Malfoy!" She suppressed the urge to clutch a hand at her chest. "Don't—don't _do _that!"

"Sorry." He had a surly expression on his face and, Ginny thought, couldn't have sounded _less _sorry. He was still wearing the Muggles clothes he'd obviously worn to have dinner with Pansy—crisp slacks and a button-down, which was now quite open at the neck. He frowned at something across the room, and, without looking at her, said, "Will asleep?"

"Yes," Ginny said. She studied Malfoy for a moment. There was something… odd …around his eyes. "He's fine." She paused. "Malfoy, are you okay?"

He didn't answer right away, continuing to stare at the far wall, a frown on his face. Then he turned to her abruptly and said, "We can't go back to the flat, you know. I mean, we can't live there. Not anymore." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "It was stupid to live there at all. Completely defenseless."

"Well—yes. I know." Ginny sighed, sinking onto the bed. This really was the last thing she wanted to think about right now. "Living in any kind of Muggle place just isn't going to cut it, not anymore. I suppose we'll need to look at wizarding flats—maybe we could find something—"

"I don't—" Ginny looked up as Malfoy interrupted her, then hesitated, before proceeding to say, "I don't think a wizarding flat is going to work either, Weasley. I mean, for one thing, how're we going to afford one? You said yourself they were far more expensive—"

"Well, yes," Ginny sad uncertainly, "but your salary is higher now, so, I mean, I think we could swing it—"

"But we have to break our lease on the Muggle flat, first," he pointed out, "and we'll have to pay a fee. Unless we do a Confundus Charm on the landlord."

Ginny glared at him. "Malfoy!"

"See, I know you woudn't like that idea," he said quickly, a little too quickly, Ginny thought. "Anyhow, on top of that, we'd be lucky to find a place that's not going to want at least a month's rent up front, and, well…I mean, _maybe _we could manage it, but things would be really tight for a while…" He trailed off. Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he plowed on, "Anyhow, Tonks doesn't think even something like that would be safe enough."

Ginny pulled one of her legs around, on top of the bed, and frowned. "You talked to Tonks about this?"

Malfoy turned to face her. "She thought someplace large would be best, someplace defensible, you know, like the manor was. We could put up Anti-Intruder Jinxes—I mean, sure, we could do the same in a flat, but in a small space, they wouldn't always do much good. And we'd need it to be Unplottable, and maybe—"

"Someplace like Grimmauld Place, you mean," Ginny said flatly. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not living there, so you can forget it. It might be _your _kind of place, all dark and creepy and morbid, but—"

"Grimmauld Place?" Malfoy cut through her, looking incredulous. "I don't want to live there either, Weasley. I mean—live with Davis? Are you mad?"

Ginny blinked. "Well—all right—that's fine, I mean, good, but—" She broke off, shaking her head. "Then I don't understand, Malfoy. It's not as though we could afford anything like that, as you yourself have pointed out, so where—"

"I'm talking about the townhouse," Malfoy said. He shut his eyes in a long-suffering sort of way, as though she were the stupidest person he'd ever had to deal with. "You silly bint."

For a moment, Ginny stared at him wordlessly. "I—but—" She was too tired to process this. Her brain was spinning furiously, as though trying to send her some kind of signal, something she was missing, but she couldn't think. "But you haven't got access to the townhouse. Unless you've found a way around the stipulations?"

"Well, no, I haven't."

"Then—" Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Well, then, you've got to get married to get the townhouse. Are you saying you think you should get married?"

Malfoy stared at her with a slightly incredulous look in his eyes. "I'm _saying_ that I think—" He swallowed "—_we _should get married."

There was a moment, then, when Ginny thought the floor might've dropped out beneath her, or rather, the bed, which she was sitting on. Everything seemed to_ rock _for a moment. The incredulity and exasperation had gone from Malfoy's face; he now was watching her rather nervously. Ginny hardly noticed, because a familiar feeling was building within her, slowly but surely. Panic.

"But—I—" She didn't mean to, but a breathless sound escaped her lips, like a laugh, only tinged with disbelief. "You think…_we _should get married?"

"Well—for the townhouse, you know—"

"I mean, I know my mum suggested, when you first lost the manor…" Ginny swallowed. "But she was only joking, you know—"

"Actually, your mother talked to me about this only last week, and she wasn't joking then," Malfoy said wryly.

"You talked to my mother about this?" Ginny said, fighting off a surge of hysteria.

"Look—I mean—I mean, it's just to get the townhouse, Weasley, what's the big deal?" Malfoy scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It would just be—I mean—nothing would change from how things are now, would it? We already live together, and raise Will together—"

Panic was growing more rapidly within Ginny now, like one building block stacked on top of another, filling up every inch of her lungs, her breathing space. It was a highly uncomfortable feeling, a weight putting pressure on her chest, like being slowly crushed to death.

"I mean, we have to do what's safest, don't we?" Malfoy was pacing now, though if he was looking at her at all, Ginny didn't know, because she couldn't seem to see him. "That has to be the first priority. We shouldn't take any chances just because—just because—"

"Just because what?" Ginny said faintly. She wasn't sure where she found the breath to say anything, every last bit of it was being squeezed out of her lungs, like a deflating balloon.

"Because we—we aren't—"

Ginny looked up at that precise moment, somehow finding the focus to look right at Draco, and, just then, he dared a glance at her. His pacing faltered as their eyes met. He hesitated before turning to face her, one hand anchored on the bedpost, holding him still.

"Look, Weasley—Ginny," he corrected himself. Ginny felt a flinch shudder through her body when he said her name. "It's not like…I mean, we're just talking about a—a business arragement, here…"

His voice trailed off weakly. Ginny thought the only reason she was still managing to look at him was because she was frozen solid, because the weight of panic pinning her down didn't allow her to move a muscle.

"But…" Malfoy paused. He dared another quick glance at Ginny, and made an odd movement, as though he were going to sit on the bed beside her but then thought better of it. His expression became oddly…open…in a way she'd never seen it before.

And something about that terrified Ginny.

"It's not like…I mean, sure, when I started thinking about this it was just to get the townhouse…because you hated that flat, and now, because it's not safe…but…"

Ginny felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"…but there could—I mean, I couldn't ask you to do this. Ginny." He met her gaze once again, and his eyes were darker, bluer, than she'd ever seen them. "If I didn't think…if it wasn't possible…that, maybe, it doesn't just _have _to be about the townhouse—that maybe—"

"Stop." Ginny flung up a hand, shutting her eyes. "Don't."

"Ginny—"

"You don't—" The crushing weight, bearing down on her chest, blossomed from pressure into pain. Stark, excruciating pain, filling her until she thought she couldn't bear it. She was going to break from the sheer force of it, she was going to shatter into a million pieces— "I just—I think—" Ginny tried to take in a deep breath, to make herself sound normal. "I mean, surely we can get by with a flat," she heard herself say, in a horribly offhand tone. "I just don't think it's necessary…"

She trailed off when she looked up and saw Malfoy's face. The open expression was gone; he looked as shut-off and isolated as she herself was. His eyes were gray again, and cold, as cold as ice. Yet there was something there…something hidden, something wretched… "Right." His voice was not as contained as his expression; it shook with barely-suppressed anger. "I forgot. Marrying me isn't worth the _risk_, is it?"

"I—no, I didn't mean—"

"Forget it, Weasley." Malfoy was on his feet in a flash, turning his back on her. Somehow, without being able to see his face, the hard, bitter note in his voice was more clear than ever. "I shouldn't have bothered."

Ginny felt herself stumble to her feet. "No, Draco, wait, please—"

But he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Ginny stared after him, motionless. It should've felt better, now, the pain should be leaving her, letting her go, but instead it boiled down on her, more intensely than before. Stifling a whimper, Ginny sank back onto the bed, curling up tightly against herself, as though, if she became small enough, it would all, finally, stop hurting.

* * *

Draco had always had a talent for shutting down his feelings. It was a talent he'd employed for most of his life, for as long as he could remember. It was something he had always done, all throughout his life at Hogwarts, something he had most certainly done when he'd been ordered to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts and kill Dumbledore.

Unfortunately, it was something that, lately, he'd been letting go a bit. And now he regretted it tenfold. But, at least, it was easy enough to bring back, easy enough to recall, how to shut those bits of him away, where he couldn't feel them. So that was exactly what he did.

The morning after he'd—well, the morning after the Death Eaters had followed Granger to his flat—they'd left Shell Cottage and moved, temporarily, into Grimmauld Place, with Tracey and Adrian. Shell Cottage was not quite as impregnable as the Order's headquarters were, and besides, Bill and Fleur lived there with Victoire, their daughter, who was only slightly younger than Will, and it seemed pointless to remain there and put her in danger when there was another alternative. However disagreeable an alternative it was.

Besides Davis and Pucey being there nearly all of the time, members of the Order of the Phoenix were constantly flittering in and out, which drove Draco mad. Not only was the Order largely comprised of people he despised, but, well, he wasn't in much of a mood to put up with any people at all. Therefore, upon their arrival, he retreated into a room on the top floor and stayed, shut up there, for most of the time that he was home. He came out only to leave for work, eat, and spend time with Will.

He had been back only once to the manor, to check up on Blaise and Granger. Neither of them were very happy being shut up there together, in the kitchens, especially Blaise, whom Draco had warned not to leave at all, until he was ready to conclude this business he had to take care of. Granger could come and go she she pleased, for all he cared.

He hadn't given much thought to Granger's search _or_Blaise's plight at all in the past few days, but he was struck with a sudden idea one morning when, to Draco's displeasure, Bill Weasley stopped by. Draco was in the kitchen with Tracey Davis, who was watching Draco scarf down his breakfast with an expression of distaste on her face.

"What?" he demanded, glaring at her.

"If you choke, don't expect any help from me," she said snidely, turning to pour herself a cup of tea.

That was when Bill dropped in. He and Draco exchanged their customary greeting without looking at each other. Bill and Davis exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before Tracey left the room, leaving Bill and Draco alone. Since that was not a situation Draco relished being in, he quickly took his plate to the sink and turned to go.

That was when it hit him.

"Er—Weasley," he said suddenly, rounding to look at the man.

Bill Weasley looked up, surprise marking his scarred face. He and Draco never, ever spoke to each other outside of saying hello; it was like a tacit agreement between them, and Draco had just breached it. "Yes?" Bill said.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You work at Gringotts, don't you? And you've worked there for a while?"

"Since I left Hogwarts." Bill shrugged. "Though I've only worked at the branch here in England for the past…ten years or so. Why?"

"Well…" Draco leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest. "Do you know anything about a break-in at Gringotts…about…eight years ago? It would've been about a month before You-Know-Who attacked Hogsmeade," he added nervously, hoping he sounded only casually interested.

Bill frowned, putting his paper down to stare at Draco. "Yes, I remember it. Didn't hear too much about it…they hushed it up, didn't want any news about it getting out. How did _you_hear about it?" he asked, looking suspicious.

"Oh, er…a friend of mine knew someone that worked there. So, did they ever find out who was trying to break in? Or what they wanted?"

To Draco's dismay, Bill's expression was more suspicious than ever. "What is this about, Malfoy?" he asked abruptly.

Draco blinked. "Sorry?"

"Judging by the fact that you're asking," Bill said dryly, "I'm assuming you know the perpetrators were trying to break into your aunt's vault. Bellatrix Lestrange's vault."

Draco felt his pace quicken. "So—so they _were _trying to break into her vault? You know that for sure?"

Bill nodded warily. "Yes. But you…" He trailed off for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Did Ginny tell you something about this? But then, I don't know that she would've known…"

"Known what?" Draco asked, ignoring the painful way his stomach clenched at hearing Ginny's name.

For a moment, Bill didn't answer. He stared at Draco, studying him, as though considering what to say to him. Then he said, "Look. I'm only telling you this because, well, I suppose it doesn't matter much now, and you…well, you _are _in the Order now," he said grudgingly. "So I suppose…" He sighed. "Look, that year—around the time of the break-in, in fact—Harry, Ron, and Hermione were captured and taken to your manor. To your father and your aunt."

"I know that," Draco said impatiently.

"And apparently," Bill went on, "your aunt, for some reason, thought they _had _broken into her vault. And she was rather insanely put out by it, by all accounts."

Draco stared. That was not what he'd expected to hear at all. "Did—did they? Break into it, I mean?"

"I don't know," Bill admitted. "They didn't really like to let anyone in on what they were doing. They were out in hiding, you know, what with Voldemort in charge at the Ministry, but, well, they weren't just hiding. They were on some mission for Dumbledore, supposedly. But that's all I know. I don't know any details about what they'd been up to."

"But…" Draco frowned. "But they might've really tried to break in?"

Bill shrugged. "Your aunt seemed to think so. Maybe you should ask her about it."

"If only I could," Draco grumbled. He left, then; as it was, he was going to be late for work. But he kept turning this new information over and over in his head. Well, he couldn't talk to his aunt about it, not yet, anyway. They still hadn't let him in to see her.

But there was someone else he could ask about it.

* * *

"…actually brought it up to Lupin, the other day," Tracey was saying, as she folded a pair of socks together. "I mean, it's been _years _now. I doubt most of the Death Eaters even remember Adrian, much less that he—er—betrayed them. A good lot of them have been rounded up now, anyhow. Or they're in hiding." Tracey sighed, momentarily setting down the shirt she'd picked up from the laundry basket. "Of course, the whole incident at your flat doesn't help my case,' she grumbled.

"Sorry," Ginny said absently, holding one of Draco's shirts in her lap.

"Well, it's not _your_ fault," Tracey said, though she did shoot Ginny a rather sour look. "Bloody Death Eaters. Can't they let anything go? I mean, they've wanted to kill Malfoy ever since he went into hiding after _sixth year_. That was forever ago!"

"Mm-hmm."

"They're heading down the drain, anyway, they must know that." Tracey folded the shirt she'd been holding and promptly picked up another. "More and more of them killed or in Azkaban."

"Yeah."

Tracey paused. Putting down the clothes in her hand, she sent Ginny a very direct look. "Spill it, Weasley," she said bluntly. "What's wrong with you?"

"What?" Ginny started, pulling out of her thoughts. "What do you mean? I'm fine."

"Right," Tracey said slowly. "And what've we been talking about for the past ten minutes?"

"Death—Death Eaters," Ginny said, a slightly defensive note to her voice. She _had _been listening. Sort of. As much as she could manage, anyway.

"And _why _have we been talking about Death Eaters?"

"Because…" GInny chanced a guilty look at her. "They attacked my flat?"

"Because I've been wanting to get Lupin to let Adrian out of here, that's why," Tracey said in exasperation. She smirked. "Then you and Malfoy can have Grimmauld Place all to your happy selves."

"I'm not living here," Ginny said sharply. "And definitely not with Malfoy."

"I was only joking." Tracey looked mildly surprised. She pushed the laundry basket aside and sat down on the bed beside Ginny, the bed in the room Ginny had claimed for herself and Will. It was a Sunday afternoon, and at the moment, Will was downstairs with Draco. "Anyhow, have you and Malfoy talked at all about where you're going to live now?"

Ginny's heart seemed to flip over itself. She suppressed the panic threatening to rise up within her again. "Not really."

Tracey's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Have you and Malfoy had some kind of row?"

"No," Ginny snapped.

"Only," Tracey went on, as if Ginny had not said anything, "I don't think I've heard you two say one word to each other the entire time you've been here. In fact, the other day when he was down in the kitchen for tea, I definitely saw you come down and then run back up the stairs when you saw him there."

Ginny's cheeks felt very hot; she hoped she hadn't gone red. "I did not!"

"Also—" Tracey gestured around the room "—what is this?"

"What is what?"

"Let me see if I can be tactful about this." Tracey paused, then shook her head. "No. I can't. All right, then, is there some reason you and Malfoy are not sleeping in the same bed?"

"Tracey!"

"Don't look so shocked. I've been to your flat. There is only _one_bedroom in that place, well, besides Will's little closet. And when I asked Fleur if the two of you slept in the same room at her place—"

Ginny groaned. "You didn't really ask her, did you?"

"—she said that you did the first time you two stayed over—when you got kicked out of Malfoy Manor, I mean." Tracey fixed her with a blunt look. "But she says last week, even though she set aside a room for you two together, Malfoy slept on the couch."

"Well, that's his choice, isn't it?"

"Ginny." All levity gone from her voice, Tracey looked at her quite seriously. There was sympathy in her eyes, which was quite odd for her—not that she wasn't a sympathetic person, but it wasn't like her to show it. "Seriously. What happened?"

Ginny swallowed. There was a part of her that very much wanted to tell Tracey everything, to share this with _someone_, to get it out of her. Because locking it all up inside of herself felt like being strangled. But…she didn't know if she could say it without suffocating. "I—we—he—" She tried to take a deep breath, but it came out haltingly. "He said that—that we should…get…married." She shut her eyes, unwilling to see Tracey's immediate reaction.

Silence met her words. After a moment, Ginny dared to open one eye. Tracey was staring at her, agape. Ginny tentatively opened the other eye. Tracey continued to stare at her a few seconds more. Then she started to laugh.

"Don't—don't laugh!" Ginny said indignantly. "It's not funny!"

"Well—no—I guess not," Tracey choked out, still laughing. "It's just—erm—" She took a deep, shaky breath, getting the laughter under control. She coughed. "Sorry. It's just…he asked you to _marry _him?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly like that," Ginny said crossly. "He didn't—I mean, he didn't _propose _or anything, not really. We were talking about where we should live now, where it would be safe to live, and he mentioned the townhouse, but of course, he can only get the townhouse if he gets married, and—"

"So…" Tracey's brow furrowed. "So it was just, sort of, a business proposition? He only asked you so you two could live in the townhouse?"

"Well—" Ginny felt her pulse quicken. "Well, he said—he did say—that it didn't just _have _to be about the townhouse…" She trailed off miserably.

Tracey's eyes had gone very wide. "And what did you say?"

Ginny felt, if possible, even more miserable remembering this bit of the conversation. She struggled with her reply, feeling her breath come a bit shorter. "I said—I said we didn't need to worry about it, because we could probably afford a flat."

Tracey stared at her. "Let me get this straight," she said flatly. "He proposed to you—hinting that it could be, like, well, an actual real proposal—and you answered in such a way that basically dismissed that idea completely?" She frowned, cocking her head. "Ginny, are you all right?"

Ginny did not feel all right. Panic was welling up in her, pushing out any available space for oxygen; it was that tortuous, crushing feeling all over again, threatening to swallow her whole.

"What is wrong with you?" Tracey asked in alarm.

"It's just—when I—" Ginny took a shuddering breath, as best she could. "When I—think—about m-m—"

"Marrying Malfoy?" Tracey guessed.

"Yes, that." Ginny shook her head. "When I—think about that—or anything—like that—I start—I feel—like I can't—b-breathe—"

Tracey watched her in alarm for a moment longer. Then, without any warning, she slapped Ginny across the face.

Ginny doubled around at the force of the slap, and, with a _whoosh_, her breath rushed out of her, as did the panic filling up her lungs. All at once, she could breathe again, albeit a bit shakily. She came back around slowly, astonished.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tracey snapped. "You're not some stupid bint who goes into a panic attack over a man. Get hold of yourself."

"Right," Ginny mumbled.

"Sorry I hit you, but—"

"No, you're right." Ginny ran a trembling hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face and tangling it in the process.

"Look." Tracey sighed. "I'm not exactly an expert on relationships, all right? Never have been. But, have you stopped to ask yourself _why _the thought of marrying Draco sends you all aflutter, and not in a good way? I mean, I know the idea would rightly disturb me, but this is you we're talking about. And you're a bit strange about Malfoy."

Ginny glared at her, but it was half-hearted.

"Because likely, there's a good reason for it," Tracey went on. "And if you sort out what that reason is, then maybe you could _talk _to Malfoy about it. Because honestly? You'd be nuts not to marry him if it means getting that townhouse. So sort out your issues here, and talk to the bloody man."

She left the room then, leaving Ginny alone, with the rest of the laundry, Ginny noticed absently. She sat still on the bed a moment longer, her fingers clenching around Malfoy's shirt, which she was still holding onto.

She knew why it was that marrying Draco, that having any sort of real feelings for him, terrified her. She knew exactly why. But it was absolutely the last thing she ever wanted to talk about with him.

* * *

Draco lay very still in his bed, staring up at the canopy overhead. It was very late, maybe past midnight, but he couldn't sleep, and really, wasn't even trying to. He hadn't changed out of his clothes for the day; he lay atop the green duvet, in his slacks and his shirt.

He'd meant to stop by the manor after work, so he could talk to Granger about the break-in at Gringotts, but he hadn't been able to find the motivation to do so. And now, he found himself wishing he had, because, maybe, it would've taken his mind off things.

A knock on his door startled him out of his gloomy thoughts. He frowned, lifting his head inches off the pillow to stare at the door. Who would be knocking on his door this late at night? Afraid that he was quite sure of the answer, he settled his head back down on his pillow and said, "Who is it?"

There was a moment of silence, and then, slowly, the door creaked open. Out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw a red head peek in.

Ginny. Of course.

"Go away, Weasley, I'm sleeping," he said gruffly, turning on his side and bunching the pillow beneath his head. A sudden thought struck him, and he sat up, halfway. "Is Will all right?" he demanded.

Ginny stepped inside, half-closing the door behind her. She moved tentatively, but her face was set, determined. "He's fine."

"Oh." Draco dropped his head again. "Well, then get out."

"No." The door latched shut firmly behind her.

Draco shot her an irritated look. "Merlin, Weasley, do you know what time it is? Go away!"

"I want to talk to you," she said simply. Draco watched with suppressed trepidation as she crossed the room to him, and sat down on the foot of his bed. Barely holding back a sigh of exasperation, he made to rise to his feet. But Ginny said, sharply, "Don't," and she reached out, placing a hand on his knee.

Draco froze, stealing a glance at her. She was looking straight at him, something raw and inexplicable in her eyes. A part of him wanted to tear himself away from her; another, quite different part of him, wanted to be closer to her. With a huff, he settled back, straightening up so that he was seated back against the headboard.

Ginny drew away from him, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. She watched Draco, looking oddly wistful. "This didn't used to be so…" She gestured between the two of them. "We used to be comfortable with each other, Malfoy."

Draco didn't say anything, though he realized, with a painful wrench, that she was right.

"We used to talk," she said quietly. "About anything. Or argue," she added, with a ghost of a smile that was gone in a second. "We used to take care of Will _together_, instead of one or the other. We used to…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "When did things stop…being like that?"

"It's been like that," Draco said bluntly, unwilling to let on how uncomfortable she was making him.

Ginny blinked. "What do you mean?"

Draco eyed her, wondering how much he should say. "Since the Riddle House," he said abruptly. Her expression registered surprise, and even a bit, indignation. Draco shrugged. "That's how I feel, anyway. You've pulled away ever since then, Ginny. Slowly, gradually." He shrugged again. "Doesn't change it."

For a moment, she looked puzzled. "But we talked about that," she said. "I told you that no one hurt me there."

"Then why?" he demanded, his voice coming out harsher than he'd intended. "You're the only one who can tell me, Weasley."

She stared at him, consternation warring on her face, and for a moment—a split-second in which he lost control—Draco ached for her, seeing her look so confused, so helpless, like a child trying to decipher a particularly difficult equation. But the confusion, then, slowly faded from her face, and she swallowed painfully.

"Have you ever thought," she said, the steady note in her voice broken only slightly with trembling, "that it wasn't anything that happened at the Riddle House to…change me…but what happened before it?"

"Before it?" Draco echoed sharply. "What do you mean, before it?"

She looked at him, her face inscrutable. "The night Will was taken," she said. "Before you told me that you knew where he was."

Draco swallowed. Of course, as if he could forget that night. Everything had been broken, everything had been so wrong, and then…he'd never so completely opened himself to another person, never been so up-front about his inner thoughts, his feelings. Thinking about that night both hurt and comforted him at the same time. Oh, he and Ginny had slept together since then, many times. But…

It had never been like that again. Not ever.

"That night…" Ginny was staring at an invisible spot on the bed sheets, not meeting his eyes. "That was…more than just sex, Draco."

"I know that," he snapped. "I was there too, remember?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Of course." She bit her lip, quiet for a moment, before continuing. "It's just…I—" Her voice broke a little. "I completely trusted you, in that moment. I completely—" She shut her eyes, inhaling slowly, as if suppressing something painful. "I _gave _myself to you. My whole self."

Draco said nothing. He didn't think he could move an inch.

"And then…" Her eyes opened, and the raw expression there had intensified into open, throbbing pain. "And then, you told me, how you'd lied to me."

Draco thought he felt his heart shudder, an old, familiar guilt welling up in him.

"I'm not saying this to blame you!" she said quickly, daring a glance at him. "That's not…I _was _angry, of course, but I'm long past that, Malfoy. I forgave you for that a long time ago," she said, her voice quiet again. "So, please, don't think I'm saying this to bring that up again, because I'm not."

"Then why are you?" Draco asked, surprised by how evenly his words came out.

"Because I need you to understand," she said, her eyes pleading with him. "Why I—" She stopped, taking a deep breath. "When I went to the Burrow, after I left you that day, I—it was like I—was broken, Malfoy." Her voice shook. "Everything—_everything _hurt. My parents were speaking to me, asking me what had happened, but it was like I couldn't hear them, couldn't see them. Like someone had dropped some big, black gauze over me, and everything was muffled, and—"

"Like the whole world was blocked out," Draco said dully. He shuddered, remembering that morning, the pit of despair he'd sunk into when Ginny had left him. "Like you'd gone so deep that you couldn't ever get back out again."

"Yes." Ginny sounded mildly surprised, but Draco didn't look up, didn't want to see her looking at him.

It was painful, remembering how he'd felt that morning, but far worse was hearing her echo his memories, hearing her describe being in the same agony, hurting the same hurt. He knew she wasn't saying it to make him guilty, she had said so, yet he could not stop feeing guilty all the same. Because he'd done that to her, and it seemed like he could never take it back.

"I was just—I was so _hurt_," she said. "I couldn't—" She stopped, and when she spoke again, her voice was different, sharpened. "Draco, look at me."

Gritting his teeth, Draco opened his eyes, and forced himself to meet her gaze. He didn't want to do this, talk about this. His insides felt twisted, yanked about, and there was an ache in his chest not quite like any pain he'd felt before. Looking at her made it worse. There was something very calm about her, yet there were tears in her eyes, tears, evidently, she could no longer hold back.

"I'm just telling you this so you understand," she said desperately.

"Understand what?" Draco demanded. His voice wavered, no matter how he tried to control it. "That I broke you? That I hurt you? Don't you think I know—"

"No, don't you understand, it's _me_." A tear spilled over onto her cheek, but she leaned forward, sitting up on her heels. "You did what you did, but that was so long ago, it's been so long, and I should be past it, I shouldn't be _feeling_ like this anymore." She gulped in air. "But I do. I don't know how to _stop _it. And that's why…" She let out a long, slow breath, and it seemed to calm her. "That's why I said what I said, the other day, when you—when you asked me to marry you." She swallowed. "That's why I…panicked."

The reminder of what had happened between them, just last week, stung Draco, but he brushed that aside easily in face of Ginny, in the face of how _she _was hurting, and how desperately she wanted to stop. Before he knew what he was doing, he, too had leaned forward, and reached a hand out to her. "Ginny—"

She flinched away from him, and looked like she regretted it the moment she did. "I'm sorry," she muttered, sounding wretched. "I'm sorry, I can't—"

Draco looked at her. She could not have looked more miserable, more sad. "I…used to help you," he said haltingly. "Make you feel better. You said so, once."

"I know."

"But you're afraid I'll hurt you again," he said quietly.

"I…know you won't," she said doubtfully.

"Obviously, you don't," he said, an edge to his voice.

"You _did _say," she said, rubbing her red eyes with her hands, "you did say there was something you're not telling me, something you found out at the Riddle House, and you said you couldn't tell me—"

"Yeah, and I told you it wouldn't put you or Will or anyone in danger, Weasley." He glared at her, but not so much with hostility as with an intensity to make her understand, to accept this. "And I'll say so again, I swear it."

"But you still won't tell me what it is," she said accusingly.

"I can't!" Frustrated, he ranked a hand through his hair. "It's not my secret to tell, all right? None of them are," he muttered.

"Right." She shook her head. "So there's more than one thing you're not telling me."

"Look, none of that matters if you _trust_ me, Ginny! That's what this comes down to, isn't it?" Draco looked at her, hearing the accusatory note in his own voice. "You don't trust me," he said, and though he didn't phrase it as a question, he stared at her, waiting for her to deny it, to assure him that she _did _trust him.

But she only stared back at him. He could see the vulnerability leaving her eyes, her face going impassive, closed to him. Frustrated beyond measure, pushed past what he could take, Draco shook his head, feeling utterly defeated.

"If that's so," he said, "then there's nothing more to do be done about it." And, although they were in his own room, he crossed to the door and left, leaving her sitting there, in his bed.


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's Notes: **Sorry this one took so long! I've had it done for weeks, but hadn't had time to post it, RL has been so hectic.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Draco stared at the woman sitting in front of him. With wispy blond hair and a rather pinched look to her face, she was utterly unrecognizable. When she spoke, however, the bossy, insufferable note to her voice was plain as ever.

"What did you want me here for, Malfoy?" She glanced around the tea shop, a small, little-known café just off Diagon Alley, where she had agreed to meet him. "Only, I have other things to be about today, so get on with it."

Draco sneered. "You have other things to be about? Like what? Going to cook dinner for you and Blaise in the kitchens, are you?" He narrowed his eyes. "Speaking of cooking, where did you get the Polyjuice Potion from, anyway?"

Granger looked at him dispassionately. "I brewed it, of course."

"In my _kitchen?_"

"Yes."

Draco glared at her. "And if the Ministry had detected it?"

"They can't have," the blond Granger said, looking exasperated. "Honestly, don't you know anything? Even with the Ministry monitoring the place, they can only detect jinxes or curses or spells—you know, things that are the result of wandwork. They can't detect someone making potions. I would've thought you'd know that," she said nastily, "seeing as you used the very same logic to get your poison past Filch sixth year. _You know_," she said, placing special emphasis on this, "the poison that ended up nearly killing Ron."

Draco waved an indifferent hand. "It was an honest mistake."

Granger let out an incredulous laugh. "I can't believe I've agreed to do _anything _with you," she said, shaking her head. "After everything you've done—"

"I spent three years in prison, Granger," Draco said evenly. "I've paid my debt to society."

"Yes, so you've said." She eyed him over the rim of her tea cup. "But remind me again, why should I trust you, Malfoy? You've always hated Ron—"

"I hated Potter," Draco corrected her. "I couldn't care enough to hate the weasel king."

"Exactly." Folding her arms over the tabletop, she fixed him with a flat, direct look. "You've never cared anything about him. You certainly didn't care that your poison might've killed him then; you obviously don't care even now, in hindsight. I doubt you felt anything upon hearing that he was dead—you certainly didn't say anything to indicate you did," she added, reminding him that, in fact, _she_had been the one to tell him that the man was dead. "So, why, then, are you trying to help me find him? What possible investment do you have in this?"

Draco eyed her stonily. "Never you mind."

"Never I—but I _do _mind, Malfoy! How do you—"

"I thought you were short on time," Draco interrupted. "Which is fine, because I am too. I just wanted to ask you what you knew about a break-in at Gringotts several years ago. It happened the year you were off harping around with Potter and his sidekick—you know, when the Dark Lord was in power at the Ministry."

Granger broke off and stared at him. "A break-in?" she said slowly.

"Yes," Draco said impatiently. "Someone tried to break in to my aunt Bella's vault. What do you know about it?"

"Well…nothing." Her brow furrowed, eyeing him in confusion. "I mean—someone really did break in, then? Because she thought _we _had—but that was only because we had the sword of Gryffindor, which she thought had been in her vault, only it hadn't been, that was a fake. We were never actually in her vault."

"But she was right crazed thinking you were, right?" Draco prompted.

"Well—yes." Granger shuddered, as though the memory of his aunt's displeasure was too awful to recall. Then again, knowing his aunt, it probably had been a very awful experience for Granger. One that involved lots of pain and torture. "She was utterly mad about it—but then, that's not exactly out of character for her, is it?" she added, her voice hardening.

"Well, no," Draco admitted. "But…" He trailed off, wondering how much he should tell her. Blaise wouldn't be pleased about it… "Look, the thing is," Draco said, before he could secondguess himself, "someone did actually try to break in to her vault, though apparently, they didn't succeed at getting anything. But even an attempted break-in was enough to drive my aunt off the wall, and it's not just her, either…"

Draco proceeded to tell her everything Blaise had told him, about the torture and murder of his entire family, all for information on this break-in that they were extremely unlikely to have. Granger listened with a look torn between horror and fascination.

"That's why they're after him, then," she muttered, when he'd finished telling her everything. "They think he might know something…but you're right, how they could think that, it seems ridiculous…"

"But that's how important this is, see?" Draco said. "Whatever it is they're so worried about…it's driven them past rationality. So it's got to be something important."

Granger stared at him for a moment, looking puzzled. "It doesn't make sense," she muttered. Then, all of a sudden, her eyes widened. "Unless—" She broke off, staring into space. "Of course…it must be…" She frowned. "But why _there? _That doesn't seem…but, maybe Harry could explain…"

"I don't suppose _you'd _like to explain what you're on about?" Draco said crossly. "Merlin, I don't know how Potter and Weasley could stand you. Bloody annoying."

Granger seemed to refocus, turning her eyes on him. They were shining with excitement. "Malfoy," she said eagerly, "you have to try and get in your aunt's vault!"

"Excuse me?"

"I think—I think—yes, it must be," she murmured. "And it's the only one left…"

"The last person who tried to get in there disappeared, as I've just told you," Draco said dryly. "And a whole bunch of people connected to him were killed. Why, exactly, should I want to get in there?"

"But she's in Azkaban now," Granger said impatiently, addressing him again, rather than the empty air. "Your aunt, I mean, so she can't stop you. And I'm not suggesting you break in. You're her nephew, you're family, you must be able to find some way to access her vault legally."

"Even if I could, what _for?_" Draco demanded.

"There's—I think, there must be—there's something in her vault that I need," Granger said. "It's a—a cup. A little porcelain one, with a badger on it. It belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, you know."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Is that what my aunt was so keen to protect? Is that what she thought might've been stolen?"

"Likely, yes."

"But what's so important about some bloody cup?" Draco shook his head. "Even if it did belong to Hufflepuff, so what? Makes it valuable, I suppose, but what would the Death Eaters want with it?"

"Not the Death Eaters, so much," Granger corrected him. "Voldemort."

Draco couldn't repress a shudder at the name. He cast an edgy glance around them, as if someone might have overhead them, but there was hardly anyone in the dinky little tea shop besides themselves. "That makes even less sense," he said, turning his attention back to Granger. "Why would even the Dark Lord—"

"Look, it doesn't matter." Granger flung up a hand to stop him. "Not to you, anyway. Just see if you can get it, all right?"

"Without you bloody explaining why? Not likely!"

"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to," Granger said, frowning at him. "It's not my secret to tell. And at any rate, you _are _going to do it, because you owe me, Malfoy, or had you forgotten?"

"I'm already paying you back for that," Draco growled, "by helping you find Weasley."

"I'm not talking about helping you out when Ginny and your son went missing," she said, her expression going dark. "I'm talking about what happened sixth year. You owe me for _that_."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ginny said much the same thing to me, once. Am I to be paying for that for the rest of my life?"

"Yes," Granger said simply. "And if you can't understand why, then that only proves you can't be done paying for it, yet."

"Really? And when will I be, then?"

"When you reach a point where you yourself don't feel like you could ever be done paying for it," Granger said quietly.

Draco flinched. A sliver of guilt threatened to worm its way through him, a bit of him that did, in fact, begin to understand what she said, what she meant. But he shoved that away, locking it back in its place where he couldn't feel it.

"I'm surprised though," Granger said slowly, after a moment's silence, "that Ginny would say anything of the sort to you. Only, I was under the impression that you two were rather chummy these days."

Draco eyed her flatly. "Were you?"

"Well, you are living together," Granger pointed out, watching Draco carefully. "And Zabini has…said some things…"

"What things?"

For a moment, Granger didn't answer. She only continued to look at him, eyes narrowed, as though he were some curious specimen. "I asked you before," she said abruptly, "why you should want to help me find Ron. What possible motivation you could have. And, well, it would make sense if…" She shook her head. "What am I saying, it makes no sense at all, it's absolutely ridiculous, but—"

"Is there a question somewhere in this, Granger?" Draco said acidly.

"Well—" Granger focused her gaze on him "—exactly how much do you care about Ginny, Draco?"

Draco inhaled sharply. He had not expected her to say _that_. "I don't see where that's any of your business," he snapped, before he could stop himself. He regretted that particular retort too late.

"Only, I've sort of nosed around a bit—"

"Of _course _you have—"

"—and really, no one seems to be very clear on what, exactly, is going on between you and Ginny," she finished.

"That's because it's none of their business, either."

"Ginny is my friend," Granger retorted, "so I'm making it my business, Malfoy. I mean it. Is there actually any sort of relationship between the two of you? I can hardly credit it, but then, a lot of things have changed. But if you're just using her to—"

"No," Malfoy said, cutting her off.

"No, what?"

"No, I'm not using her, and no, there's no relationship between the two of us," Draco said shortly. "Not anymore, anyway."

Granger cocked her head. "Not anymore?"

Draco wished he could've taken that statement back, too. What was wrong with him? He was spitting things out before he could consider what he was saying, and to Granger, of all people. Yet, ever since things had gone so wrong with Ginny, he'd felt fit to burst, this terrible hole tearing open inside of him, and no way to remedy it, to make it go away. And now, as he spoke, even if it _was _to Granger, that hole seemed to seal itself, to become a bit less. He couldn't seem to stop himself; it was instinctive, survival, anything to make the pain go away.

"She doesn't trust me," he found himself saying, his voice curt. "And I don't see how there can be anything between us if she doesn't trust me."

The look Granger sent him was almost suspicious, as if she weren't sure that he was being sincere. "Well…I can't say I blame her."

"That's because you don't know me, Granger," Draco shot back.

"And Ginny does?"

"I thought she did," Draco muttered. This was ridiculous. He had not become so messed up about this that he was talking to a Mudblood about it. He was on the verge of getting to his feet and leaving the shop when she said,

"Do you trust Ginny?"

"Of course I do," Draco said, startled into an instant response.

Granger raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes." On this, Draco was very sure; he had no hesitation about it.

"Only, you don't strike me as the sort of person to care much about trust one way or another," Granger pointed out. "You don't seem to care that anyone trusts you. Nor, I think, would you place your trust in anyone else."

"Well, on the whole, I don't," he admitted. "It's a stupid thing to do, go around life trusting everyone. But Ginny…I've trusted her for a long time. I've had to, haven't I? When Will was born, at the Ministry…well, I didn't want to trust her then, but I didn't have a choice. And after that, well—that's all trust is, isn't it? Placing your faith in someone, and when it proves the right choice, well, you can trust them. That's what I did, what I _had _to do, and, well, the result is—I trust her."

Granger looked surprised, likely at the thought-out response, for she likely believed him to be both stupid and uncaring. "But that means you trust her with your son," she said. "Not necessarily with…with you. With your…self." She shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable. Likely, she was as astonished at having this conversation with him as he was.

"Well…but I do trust her. With my…self," he said, slightly puzzled. "I mean, that didn't happen so fast, not then, that came later. I mean, after she moved in with me, well—she just proved to be…she stuck up for me, you know, to her family, and she—well." Draco coughed, unwilling to say anymore. He wasn't going to explain the mechanics of his feelings about Ginny to anyone, no matter what.

Granger eyed him with a most peculiar expression on her face, and it made Draco uncomfortable. He looked away from her as she said, "All right, then, but what have _you _done to make Ginny trust you?"

"What?"

"Well, you're saying she's done things for you. But what you done for her? And haven't you ever, maybe, given her any reason not to trust you?" she added pointedly.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. That last point had hit a little too close to home. "Maybe I have," he said shortly, "but that's in the past, and she knows it. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do about it."

"You mean to say, you've done something to make her lose her trust in you?"

"Yes, but she's forgiven me for it, she says so, so what—"

"What did you do?" Granger asked, an ominous note in her voice.

"None of your business!" Draco snarled. "Merlin, I don't know why I'm having this conversation with you anyway—"

"Well, nor do I," Granger admitted, "given that Ginny is likely better off without you—"

Draco scowled.

"—I'm just saying—" Granger shut her eyes and paused, taking a deep breath, as if to give herself patience. He thought he heard her mutter, "_Men_," before she paused again, opened her mouth, and went on, "Maybe she has forgiven you, but she's obviously not over it. Otherwise, she should be able to trust you again, assuming she ever trusted you before. I just think that—maybe—" She shrugged. "Maybe she's not as clear on what happened between you—what ever happened to make her not trust you—as you think."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I assume you had a reason for doing whatever you did, no matter how stupid a reason—"

"Of course I had a reason."

"But does _she _know that?" Granger asked wisely.

Draco blinked. "Well—I mean—sure, she knows—I mean—"

"Maybe she doesn't understand as fully as you think she does." Granger lifted her tea cup and drank the last bit of it. "And that, Malfoy, is all the relationship advice I can stand to give you. So, mind you don't forget about getting that cup from your aunt's vault, all right?"

* * *

Ginny sat at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, staring at the wall of cabinets opposite her. She had one arm outstretched, her hand wrapped around a warm cup of tea, but she paid no attention to it. It was a cold night outside, though they were well into March, and the chill could be felt within the house as well. Ginny wore a sweatshirt zipped up over her usual ratty tee that she slept in.

She was not alone; Adrian Pucey sat at the far end of the long table, flipping through a book and drinking his own cup of tea. They sat in silence, neither speaking to the other. Ginny had always been…friendly…with Adrian, as he was Tracey's boyfriend, but they weren't _friends_.

She could not have felt more miserable, and had felt so since she'd attempted to patch things up with Malfoy yesterday. There was a part of her that felt justified in not trusting him; hadn't he lied to her once, about something huge? And hadn't he admitted that he was keeping things from her still?

Yet another part of her, one shoved deep down within her, whispered that this was just an excuse. Something to put between the two of them, a barrier that need not exist, except that she was terrified of leaping into something with him. Terrified of giving herself over to him, only to be hurt again.

Footsteps in the corridor outside made her lift her head and look to the door, and, a moment later, Draco appeared there, wearing his black work robes over slacks and a button-down. Ginny flinched as their eyes met for a moment, and she quickly looked away, going back to the practice of avoiding that they had used with each other since his "proposal."

A few seconds later, however, she became aware that Draco, upon seeing her, had not turned and left, but was still standing in the doorway. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him come inside the kitchen.

He didn't pause to look at her or talk to her, but went to the pot of hot water she had left on the stove and began to brew himself a cup of tea. He stood with his back to her as he did this, and Ginny took the moment to stare openly at him from behind. She looked away hastily when he turned around unexpectedly to pull his robes off and sling them over a chair at the table.

At this point, Adrian let out a small cough to clear his throat, and Ginny looked around in surprise. She had forgotten he was still in the room; neither he nor Draco had said anything to each other, not even a greeting. Adrian, now, was getting to his feet; tucking his book under his arm and taking his tea with him, he left the kitchen without a word.

Leaving Ginny and Draco alone together.

Ginny, not having a book or paper or anything with her to occupy herself, hastily took a gulp of her tea. She nearly choked on it and practically slammed her cup back on the table, given that it was still very hot and had burned her tongue. She shot a glance at Draco, but once again, he stood with his back to her, stirring some suger into his tea. Ginny lifted her tea again, blowing gently on the hot beverage this time. She watched Draco over the rim of her cup, as he turned slightly, so that she could see his profile. If he was looking at her even out of the corner of his eye, she could not tell. He merely loosened his tie and undid a couple of buttons at the neck of his shirt, looking tired.

And then, quite suddenly, he turned to face her head-on. "I don't think you understand," he said abruptly.

Ginny stared at him. Before she'd had a chance to avert her eyes and pretend he was not there, as per their usual practice for the past week, he'd caught her gaze, and he held it as though he were a basilisk that had paralyzed her. She couldn't seem to make herself look away now, though she desperately wanted to. "Understand what?"

"Why I lied to you." He folded his arms over his chest, frowning a little. "About my father, about knowing where he was. When they took Will."

Ginny continued to stare at him. She felt a bit dazed, and wondered, vaguely, if she'd fallen asleep at the table and was having an oddly realistic dream. "Well—he is your father," she said lamely.

"Yes," Draco said sharply. "But I don't think you understand what that means. To me," he added.

"Well…" Ginny blinked, perplexed. "It means he's your father. It's hard to just turn on your father."

Draco didn't answer right away. He half-turned to pick up his cup of tea, and took a careful sip from it. He lowered his hand then and said, "See, you say that, but I don't think you really get it. Because to you," he went on, forestalling her objections, "he's an evil man. A man that essentially tried to kill you, your first year at Hogwarts. A man who has always looked down on and hated your family. And a Death Eater," he added quietly. "A follower of the Dark Lord. One who's killed and tortured people, for—for glory, or power, or just to survive. And apparently done it without remorse," he added grimly.

Ginny nodded absently, finding nothing here to disagree with. Some of those things could be applied to Draco himself, as well, she thought, but many things had changed, and some things were just not the same. Draco had been forced to torture people, as a Death Eater, yet she knew he did feel remorse for it, knew he'd hated it. "But that's what he is to me," she said impatiently. "That's not what he is to you, and I know that."

"Do you?" Draco mused. Without seeming to know what he was doing, he wandered over to the table, tea cup in hand, and settled down onto the chair beside her. He leaned back in it, putting some distance between them. "Let me ask you something, Weasley. If your father died—well, you'd be upset obviously."

"Well—yes," Ginny said quietly, shuddering at the very thought of it.

"But, you'd still have your mum. And in fact, even if your mum died, you'd still have your brothers. And lots of friends." He traced the rim of his cup, staring down at it.

"I suppose so," Ginny said uneasily; she didn't like this talk of her parents dying, not at all. "But, I'd still be incredibly sad—"

"Yes, of course you'd be sad," Draco said impatiently. "But you wouldn't be—alone. You might feel that way sometimes, when you miss your mum's cooking or your dad's odd fascination with Muggles, but even at those times, you'd have people to turn to. A number of people, in fact," he added bitterly.

Ginny nodded slowly. "Well, yes. What does this—"

"I didn't have that," Draco said suddenly. "I don't have that."

Ginny looked at him in surprise. "But—I mean, Malfoy, your father isn't dead—"

"It felt that way," Draco said harshly. "Ginny, I've never—I didn't so much have _friends_, growing up. Crabbe and Goyle, yeah, I'd call them friends, but I didn't _care _about them—the way I care about my parents. It's not like I could talk to them about my problems, ask them for help or advice when something wasn't going right with me." He raked a hand through his hair. "I don't have much other family besides my parents, well, not anyone I'm close to. It was only ever them." He shut his eyes.

Ginny said nothing, watching him, transfixed. A small part of her heart was throbbing, but for once, it wasn't a pain that she felt for herself, but for him. It wasn't a hurt that drew her away from him, but made her want to be closer to him.

He sighed, opening his eyes. "And then my father went to prison," he said dully, "after fifth year. From then on, we never really—it wasn't the same. And then my mum…died." His voice broke a little as he said this, but he seemed to recover quickly. "Oh, she's not really dead, but she may as well be. And that was—for me, that was—"

"I know how that was," Ginny said quietly. "For you." When he only looked at her, puzzled, she cleared her throat and said, "I saw you. That night, at the hospital. You remember, you found me on the floor, the next morning? I'd—I'd gotten out of bed, that night, because I heard…well." She swallowed. "I heard the Healer tell you what had happened to her. I saw you…" She trailed off.

She thought he might be angry, and though a dark look passed through his eyes for a moment, he said nothing in rebuke, nothing to push her away.

She glanced away, a lump forming in her throat. She stared down at her tea cup, which had gone cold in her grip. "But your dad…"

"I never saw him after that." Ginny glanced up at him, and saw his eyes had gone hard. He looked at her grimly. "I knew he was at the Riddle House, but I never went to see him. And he never came to see me. Well…there was a part of me that didn't want to, after you told me he'd tried to take Will at the Ministry. Maybe he knew that, maybe that's why he stayed away. I don't know." Draco shrugged.

"It felt like I was alone, then. Well, it had felt that way since my mum was…since she'd gone," Draco said, his voice hollow. "But, Ginny, when he took Will—when he kidnapped him, attacked you…and remember, at the time, we'd thought he was the one who'd pushed you down the stairs, who'd beaten you…" He shook his head.

"Ginny, I—" He broke off, his voice hoarse. "That was when I knew. I hadn't been alone before, but at that point—he was _gone_, then. Gone from me, dead to me. I realized then he cared nothing about me, nothing about what mattered to me."

"But that wasn't really true," Ginny couldn't help but speak up. He looked so dejected, sitting there, a lost boy with no family, no parents. "I mean, he hadn't tried to hurt me, only to get Will, anyway, and even taking Will—he thought he was protecting him—"

"But I didn't know that, Gin." He looked at her, and he looked completely drained, his eyes almost bloodshot. "That night—that night when Will was taken—"

The lump in Ginny's throat was growing, becoming painful. It still hurt to think about that night, about what had passed between them, yet the hurt was different now; it wasn't hers alone.

"He was really gone," Draco said, his voice a near-whisper. "That was how it felt. And turning on him—not just telling _you_, it wasn't about you, but telling anyone where he was, speaking it aloud, making it a vocal betrayal—it was like that would make it real, make it permanent." He turned his gaze on her, and his eyes were desperate, pleading, as she herself had been when last they'd spoken, trying to get him to understand. "Don't you—I mean—he was _dead_, Ginny, the last person I had, it was like he was dead, and—and admitting it…" He broke off, shaking his head.

Ginny stared at him for a moment, before her gaze wandered past him, over his head. "So not telling me…" she said pensively. "It wasn't about me."

"Not like that," Draco said quickly, stealing a glance at her. "I don't mean I didn't care—"

"No, I know, I get it." She let out a slow breath. "I get it."

It was like a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders, lightening her soul. She felt free, free of the panic and guilt and uncertainty. "It wasn't that you didn't want to tell me—"

"Well—not entirely." Draco swallowed visibly, eyeing her nervously, as though afraid she would grow angry with him again. "I mean, I had known where he was all that time, before he took Will, and I'd always told you I didn't. At first, of course, it was because I _didn't _care about you, not then, and of course I wasn't going to tell you, I wasn't telling anyone. But later—" He cleared his throat. "You know, after you'd been living with me for a bit…I…"

"You what?" Ginny held her breath, waiting to hear this.

Draco stood suddenly, shoving his chair back. He turned aside slightly, so that he only his profile was visible to her. "I knew that telling you—I knew that would mean—I thought that…" Even from this angle, she could see the conflicted look on his face. "That I'd…lose you," he said thickly. "And I…I didn't want that." He turned back to her, looking uncertain. "From…very early on, you know. Because—having you there—in the manor, with me—having you with us—it was like—it made things—" He scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking frustrated.

Ginny reached out to him without thinking, her fingers closing around his wrist. Feeling his pain, his loneliness, it was as though that driven all the uncertainty and doubt out of herself, driven it away, so that it no longer hung there between them, separating them.

Draco looked at her, momentary surprise in his eyes. Hesitantly, as though expecting her to pull away from him, he reached down, and cupped a hand around her neck. She could feel her pulse beating against his palm, warm against her skin. Ginny took a shaky breath, gazing up at him, unmoving. She was afraid of doing something, something that might break this, end this—

But then he closed his hand around her wrist, just below her grip on his, and pulled her to her feet. She swayed for a moment, her free hand going to his chest, to steady herself. They stood mere inches apart, and it was like something electric connected them, a magnetic charge, pulling them closer together, drawing them in. Draco's eyes were dark, marked by something inexpressible, and that was all Ginny saw before she shut her eyes and pressed her lips to his.

There was nothing gentle about this kiss; it was all at once desperate and fierce, as though they needed to chase away the tension that had grown between them, leave that all behind as quickly as they could, fly back to the days when intimacy has been so much more natural to them. Whereas just a few days ago, Ginny had been so closed to Draco, she now felt herself opening up, pushing all of herself into this kiss, deepening it until everything around her ceased to exist, except for him, except for them.

His lips were like fire against hers, tumultuous, raging, all-consuming. His arms were around her now, one hand at the small of her back, one tangled in her hair, and even encircled within him, she could not seem to be close enough to him, could not take in enough of the warmth radiating off his skin, the scent of him lingering around her. Her hands wrapped behind his neck, she pressed herself even closer against him, molding her body to his.

Somehow, they stumbled around, in half a circle, and Draco seemed to fall into the chair at the table behind him, bringing Ginny down with him, onto his lap. A short breath escaped Ginny's lips as they separated for one, split second, and then he'd sealed his lips over hers again, pulling her down to him. One of her hands slipped down to his shoulder, to anchor herself. A warm, physical sensation grew in her stomach, sending a shiver throughout her body; she could feel her knees trembling beneath her. She could feel the heat of Draco's skin through his shirt, burning against her palm, and there was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to be completely enclosed, enveloped in that heat…

It was all too much. Something tightened within her chest, not painful, but forceful. It came crashing over her, past the thrilling physicality of the moment, her soul begging off, warning her not to go too far, too soon. She pulled back with a sharp breath, gulping in air. A part of her wanted so badly to throw herself into this, to feel again what she had once felt with him, but she knew she couldn't force it.

Draco looked startled when she pulled away, his eyes flying open, the grey irises clouded, dazed. For a moment, he looked almost confused, but then his gaze sharpened, focusing in on her face with intense clarity. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice deep, raw.

"Nothing," Ginny said, staring down at him. He reached up with one hand, then, and placed it over her cheek. His thumb rested just below her eyelid, and that's when she felt it, a wetness, brimming in her eyes. As he touched her, a bit of it, like a tear, slipped over, moistening his thumb. She blinked, and her vision blurred a bit, her eyelashes getting wet.

"What's wrong?" he repeated, his voice insistent.

A small breath escaped her lips; it might have been a laugh, had she had the strength for it, but as it was, only a small smile escaped her. "Nothing." And for once, she felt the truth of that within her; nothing, nothing was wrong, not now. Instead, everything was right.

She leaned down, flattening herself against him, her head resting just beneath the crook of his neck. He seemed to understand, and his arms slipped around her, holding her in place. Ginny shut her eyes, letting out a slow, even breath.

Everything was right.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed there, but she must have fallen asleep, crouched there on his lap, because the next thing she knew, she was lying on a soft, warm bed. She had vague flashes of being carried up the stairs, of coming into this room, but as she opened her eyes, she realized it was not her bedroom, nor was it Draco's. Draco, however, was there; he stood across the room, taking off his tie.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak and found the first word that passed her lips was, "Will." Draco turned at this, seeing she was awake. "Tracey was watching him, in my room, but—"

"She's still there," Draco assured her. "I just looked in, she's sleeping in there. That's why I brought you in here." He dipped his head, indicating the room they were in. "It's an empty bedroom, just down the hall from Will."

"Oh. Good." Ginny's head sank back down onto the pillows behind her. It wasn't all that late—it couldn't have been, she didn't think, unless they'd sat in the kitchen together for hours—yet she was incredibly drowsy; her eyelids drooped of their own accord. She forced herself to stay awake a few moments longer though. "And—are you going to stay here?" she asked, her voice muffled with sleep.

Draco crossed the room to her side. Holding onto the bedpost beside her head, he leaned over her, invading her space. It was a welcome intrusion; Ginny breathed in deeply, as though breathing him in. "Yes," he said. A second later, he'd pulled back. "I have to get my pajamas, though."

He stepped out into the hall with his wand and, presumably, Summoned them down to him, because he came back inside only seconds later, clutching his blue silk pajama pants and a plain gray shirt in his hands. Ginny tried to watch him as he changed out of his slacks and button-down, but she really couldn't keep her eyes open. She was already drifting into dreams when she felt him climb into the bed beside her.

When she woke again, it was morning, judging by the clock on the stand beside the bed. She opened her eyes blearily, and found herself staring at the wall opposite her. Malfoy was a warm, comforting presence against her back, his arm wrapped around her middle a welcome pressure. Slowly, not wanting him to pull away, she turned around onto her other side to face him. Rather than pulling away, his arm tightened around her waist as she shifted closer to him, resting her head against the soft material of his shirt.

"Good morning," Ginny whispered, for she was sure he was awake, if only a little.

"Morning," Draco returned, mumbling hazily.

For a moment, she simply lay there, nestled against him. Then, a thought struck her. "Draco," she said.

"Hmm?"

Ginny smiled into his chest, feeling mischievous. "Will you marry me?"

"Huh—_what?_" Draco started awake. He pulled back slightly from her so that he could look down at her. He blinked several times, bleary-eyed and groggy. "I—what?" he repeated, his words coming out in a sleepy sort of groan.

Ginny traced a circle on his chest, choking back laughter. "I mean, if you don't want to—"

"Wha—? No, of course I want to!"

Ginny couldn't help it now; a bubble of laughter escaped from her lips. Draco groaned again and shifted onto his back, uncurling from around her. Ginny lifted her head slightly so that he could rest his right arm beneath her neck. "Bloody witch," he groused, failing to stifle a yawn as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Springing this on me before I'm properly awake…" His eyes flew open with sudden clarity. "Do you mean it?" he demanded, looking down at her.

"Yes, I mean it," Ginny said, a little exasperated. "To be perfectly honest, if we even only remotely liked each other, it would be well worth it to get married, at this point. For that bloody house."

"That's what I've been saying," Draco grumbled.

"And, as I do like you, even if it is just remotely—"

"What do you mean, just remotely?" Draco said indignantly.

"—then yes, I think we should get married," Ginny finished, stifling another burst of laughter at the offended expression on his face.

"Well—good," he said. He had the most peculiar expression on his face, as though he were trying to keep from grinning like an idiot but couldn't quite manage it. "That's settled that, then."

"There's just one problem," Ginny said quite seriously.

"What?"

"Well, it's just…" Ginny hesitated. "Every time I imagine telling my family that I'm going to marry you, I feel like I'm going to vomit."

The grin vanished from Draco's face. "Kill joy," he accused.

"Sorry."

"That _does _put a damper on things, doesn't it," he agreed, looking a bit anxious.

"Well, yes, I thought so," Ginny said. "But—I have an idea. So that we can just bypass all that."

"Move to a foreign country?" Draco said hopefully.

"No." Ginny rolled her eyes. "That would sort of defeat the point, which is, after all, to get the townhouse. I think—" She paused "—we should elope."

"What, you mean…" Draco said slowly. "Like…just go down to the Ministry whenever and have someone marry us? Without any big ceremony or party or anything like that?"

"Yes, exactly. We'd still have to tell everyone, of course, but it would be done," Ginny pointed out. "That way we don't have to spend months on an engagement, with my dad trying to talk me out of it and Fred and George trying to kill you. And," she added, "we can do it soon, as soon as possible, so we can get the house as soon as possible. I mean, I don't fancy living here for another several months, do you?"

"No." Draco looked at her sharply. "But are you sure you're okay with that? Only, women can be sort of funny about weddings—"

"Do I strike you as the kind of woman to be _funny _about a wedding?" Ginny asked, an edge to her voice.

"Well, no," Draco said hastily. "I was just—making sure."

"I've already been through that twice with Bill and Fleur, and George and Diana." Ginny shifted, laying her head against Draco's shoulder. "And my mum was absolutely nuts, fussing about every little thing. Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to skip all that nonsense."

"All right, then." Draco smiled. "So you really want to do it soon, then, as soon as possible?"

"Definitely. How soon can we do it, do you think?"

"Well, I'll see about getting the marriage license." His brow was furrowed pensively. "And setting up an appointment. Probably usually takes a bit of time, but I know a few people—"

"Of course you do." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"—so I can probably swing it within the next couple of weeks." He glanced down at her with an air of mock annoyance. "Does that suit you, you bloody demanding witch?"

"Yes," Ginny said smugly. "It does."

"Good." Draco grinned unexpectedly at her, turning onto his side and looming over her. "I think we should make it official, then. You know, with a kiss."

Ginny laughed again, but did not object as he leaned down and closed his lips over hers.

* * *

The next week was both torturous and gleeful for Ginny. Being that they were both determined that none of her family or friends should find out beforehand, Draco and Ginny resolved not to say anything or act the least bit differently around each other. Sharing a secret like this between the two of them was oddly thrilling, but it was also very difficult, given that Tracey and Adrian were around them all the time at Grimmauld Place, and given that other members of the Order were constantly flitting in and out of the house.

"Am I missing a joke?" Lupin asked one morning. He'd stopped by and sat at the kitchen table with Draco, Ginny, and Adrian.

"What?" Ginny looked around at him quickly. "What do you mean, why?"

"Because," Lupin said mildly, "the two of you—" He gestured between Draco and Ginny, who were sitting at opposite ends of the table "—were grinning at each other like a pair of idiots."

"Nope, no joke," Draco said gruffly.

"Don't know what you mean," Ginny said, practically fleeing from the kitchen.

Another time, several Order members had stopped by for dinner, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dean Thomas, Bill and Fleur, and Tonks. Tracey and Adrian were there too, of course. Ginny had both Will and Victoire in seats beside her, and had been attempting to get them both to eat their dinner.

"Ginny," Draco said suddenly, leaning forward, "you've got a bit of mashed potato in your hair." He reached across the table, slipping his fingers down a strand of her hair to wipe it clean. For a moment, a second, they were both frozen there, looking at each other. Ginny almost couldn't suppress a smile.

Someone cleared their throat just then, and Ginny and Draco looked around. Nearly everyone at the dinner table was staring at them, the exception being Adrian, who was rather discreetly cutting into his piece of chicken. Tracey, on the other hand, looked openly suspicious; Dean looked gobsmacked. Tonks was grinning, Kingsley watched them, impassive, before turning back to his dinner, and after a moment, Fleur gave Bill, who nearly glaring at Draco, a great nudge, urging him back to his food. Feeling rather hot in the face, Ginny leaned back, and Draco slowly returned to his seat, avoiding everyone's gaze.

It was ridiculous, really, given that this marriage was intended to gain the townhouse, and that going to elope at the Ministry was about the least romantic way to do it. But Ginny couldn't help it; keeping this between them, a secret, as it was, was a heady feeling, and Ginny had to admit that she was looking forward, just a bit, to seeing the shock on everyone's faces when they found out. In fact, thinking about it one afternoon, after putting Will down for a nap, made Ginny positively want to burst with suppressed glee. She quickly fled the room to avoid waking Will, and, as soon as she was in the hallway outside, couldn't help giggling to herself.

"All right, spill it. What is going on with you and Draco?"

Ginny choked on another rush of laughter and looked around in surprise. Tracey stood just down the hall, arms crossed, eyeing Ginny flatly.

"Wh-what?" With some difficulty, Ginny got herself under control; she took a deep, slow breath to ensure she wasn't going to burst out laughing again. "What do you mean?" she asked, striving for a tone that was both innocent and slightly confused.

"Oh, please." Tracey rolled her eyes and came forward. She jabbed a finger at Ginny. "You know exactly what I mean. Only last week the two of you were both moping around here, running out of the room every time you came across each other—"

"I was not moping," Ginny protested.

"—and now, you both can't stop for giggling every time you pass each other in the hall—"

"And I don't giggle," Ginny said indignantly.

"Oh, you do," Tracey assured her. "And so does Draco. You both look as if Christmas has come early every time you look at each other, and though you're obviously trying to _avoid _looking at each other, you do a very bad job of it."

Ginny huffed. "Well, we both live here, we can't _really _avoid each other—"

"You did a good enough job of it last week," Tracey said dryly. "Spill it, Gin. The last time I spoke to you about Malfoy, you were all depressed and panicky. Now you look absolutely joyful at the mere mention of his name. What happened?" Dropping her accusatory stance, she wheedled, "Oh, please, Ginny, please tell me what's going on with you two?"

"Pansy's right," Ginny laughed. "You _are _downright nosy!"

"Well?" Tracey demanded, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Ginny glanced around furtively as though checking for eavesdroppers, though the only other people in the house right now were Draco and Adrian, and if she were to tell Tracey, she knew Adrian would hear about it as well. "Okay, but you can't tell anyone," Ginny warned her. "I swear, Trace, if any of my family hear about this—!"

"I learn people's secrets, I don't tell them," Tracey said impatiently.

"Okay, well—" Ginny couldn't help it; knowing she could trust Tracey, she was now bursting to tell someone this "—I talked to Malfoy, like you said I should—"

"Thank you," Tracey said, applauding herself.

"—only, at first, you know, it didn't go so well, we didn't really get anywhere with it. I was feeling worse than ever about the whole thing, but then, the next night, when Draco got home, we—talked some more—"

"That night I fell asleep watching Will and you never came up?" Tracey interrupted. "I knew it, I knew you were with him that night!"

"—and, yes, well, we, er, made up," Ginny said, blushing a bit.

"That's it?" Tracey stared at her, crestfallen.

"Well, you don't really want details, do you?"

"Come to think of it, concerning Malfoy, no I don't." Tracey wrinkled her nose. "But that can't be all, why're you two acting so secretive about it?"

"Because-we've-decided-to-elope," Ginny said in a rush.

"What? Elope!" Tracey practically shrieked. "What do you mean, elope? Oh my god, you're going to get married? But just last week you were practically hyperventilating at the thought of marrying him—"

"I know, well, like I said, we talked it out—"

"—and now you're just going to—oh my god." Tracey's eyes widened. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you? Your family! Imagine when they find out—!"

"I know," Ginny said glumly. "My dad—"

"Fred and George!" Tracey practically cackled with glee. "Oh, I'd pay anything to see them find out about this."

"Don't you dare tell them," Ginny warned.

"Oh, of course I won't." Tracey waved a dismissive hand. "So you're going, what, to the Ministry to have it done? Just the two of you? Oh, please, please let me come, Ginny, please!"

"You want to come with us?" Ginny stared.

"Yes, don't you need witnesses, anyway?"

"Well, I think there are usually people at the Ministry—"

"Oh, please, come on, let me come! I can be your maid of honor," Tracey said, fluttering her eyelashes sarcastically.

"Well—all right." Ginny laughed. "Bring Pucey then, he can be Draco's best man. We'll have a right little wedding party."

"Oh, I can hardly wait!" Tracey said.

"Well, you haven't long," Ginny informed her, "because we're going on Tuesday."

Draco was less than enthusiastic about bringing Tracey and Adrian along for the elopement, but Ginny suspected that, like herself, he was too pleased about the whole thing to really let it upset him, as he only made a half-hearted protest and a feeble attempt at a scowl. Tracey, on the other hand, was positively furious that night at dinner, when, with much dramatization, she broke the news to Adrian, only to find that he was less than surprised.

"Well, I sort of knew about it," Adrian said.

"Knew, what do you mean, you knew?" Tracey demanded.

"Well, not about them getting married," he said, "but I figured they'd made things up. What do you think I left them the two of them alone for in the kitchen that night, anyway?"

"Who would've thought?" Ginny laughed. "Adrian, the matchmaker!"

"Cheers, Pucey," Draco said with a smirk-like grin.

"Yes, well, I was tired of the two of you walking around here like someone killed your puppy," he muttered.

Come Tuesday, the four of them ate a leisurely breakfast, Draco and Tracey having taken personal days from work. Draco had taken Will over to Pansy's for the day, and informed them, when he returned, that he had gone ahead and told her what they were doing.

"Oh." Tracey looked disappointed. "I was so looking forward to gloating at her about it, that I knew and she didn't."

"Well, I didn't tell her you were coming," Draco grumbled, "so you can gloat about that."

Their appointment was scheduled for eleven o'clock that morning, so at half-past ten, they went from Grimmauld Place to the Ministry by Floo, arriving through one of the many fireplaces in the Atrium.

"I'm a little nervous about this," Ginny said, as the four of them started across the Atrium.

"Getting cold feet?" Tracey smirked. Draco shot her an alarmed look.

"No," Ginny said. "I didn't mean that. I meant—what if we run into someone we know? Only, we do know a lot of people that work here, including—" She felt as though her stomach had dropped out beneath her "—my dad."

"Just move quickly," Draco advised. "Anyway, after you and Adrian stop by the security desk, we just need to take the lift to Level Two—"

"Which will be one of the last stops the lift makes," Tracey muttered.

"And it's not like we don't know plenty of people on Level Two," Ginny grumbled.

They crossed the Atrium at a brisk walk; Ginny did her best not to look around or make eye contact with anyone. She was more relieved than ever that she'd rebuffed Tracey's attempts to convince her to wear dress robes; she had instead decided on a pretty but staid pencil skirt made of champagne-colored lace, and a camisole beneath a delicate, short-sleeved jacket. Draco was dressed the same way he always was, in black slacks and a particularly blue button-down, though he had opted for his best silk tie.

They were just crossing the fountain in the center of the Atrium when, all of a sudden, someone called, "Ginny!"

Ginny's first instinct was to speed up and keep walking, but whoever had called out her name had been quite clear, and Tracey had already looked around, likely without thinking about it. Draco and Adrian exchanged identical grimaces, but there was nothing for it. With some trepidation, Ginny stopped and looked around to see who had hailed her.

To her dismay, Ernie Macmillan was striding across the gilded floor towards them, smiling broadly. Ginny watched him draw closer with a forced smile plastered on her face. "Hullo, Ernie, how are you?" she asked, as he stopped in front of them.

"Very well, thank you, very well," he said pompously, beaming at her. He looked over at Draco, and his smile wavered a little. Nevertheless, he held out a hand to Draco and said, quite genially, "Malfoy, hullo."

Draco shook his hand without saying a word. Ginny wondered whether he actually knew Ernie's name.

"Tracey Davis," Ernie boomed, turning on her next. Ginny thought Tracey looked as though she found this whole situation entirely too funny; she looked rather amused as she, too, shook Ernie's proferred hand. "I haven't seen much of you for years, but you work here, don't you?"

Tracey replied to him in kind and introduced Adrian, of whom Ernie had heard of but never actually met. The entire time they were exchanging pleasantries, Ginny waited with bated breath, looking for a moment they could make some excuse and slip away, and hoping desperately that he would not ask the one question she didn't know how to answer—

"But what're you all doing here?" Ernie asked, looking among them, and settling his gaze on Ginny. "Bit early for lunch, isn't it?"

"Erm—" Ginny's mouth had gone very dry. "Well—"

"Ginny and I are here to see a Ministry official about some of my property," Draco said smoothly. "You know most everything was confiscated by the Ministry two years ago—"

"Yes, yes, I'd heard about that," Ernie said, as though the _Daily Prophet _had not been plastered with articles about it at the time. He actually looked sincerely concerned, and for Malfoy, whom he had no liking for. Perhaps the concern was really for Ginny, but she rather thought it was more because Draco was now mostly considered to be an upstanding member of society.

"Well, we're looking into a townhouse that should be in my name," Draco explained, "which we previously have not been able to get a hold of." His face took on a sort of pained expression, which, Ginny thought, was a trifle overdone. "You know, we really need someplace safe and defensible to live, and that townhouse—"

"I quite understand." Ernie nodded seriously. His eyes, however, strayed over Tracey and Adrian in some confusion.

"Well—" Tracey coughed; she had a sort of abashed expression on her face, which, Ginny thought, looked particularly out of place on her. Tracey was never embarrassed or ashamed of anything. "It's just, you know, the official that Draco and Ginny need to, er, talk to, well, he's an old family friend, and we thought, having me along—"

"Of course, of course," Ernie said, smiling between the four of them as if they all shared some secret with him now. "Well, you don't want to be late for your appintment then; it sounds as if you need to make a good first impression! I'll let you on your way, then."

Deeply relieved, Ginny bid goodbye to Ernie along with the others. Ginny and Adrian stopped at the security desk to have their wands registered, as neither of them worked at the Ministry; they left from there, without incident, and proceeded to the lift, which they rode up to Level Two.

Ginny gulped as they stepped out of the lift, eyeing the wooden doors straight ahead, which led to Auror Headquarters. Draco, however, bypassed these doors and turned right, leading them to the Wizengamot Administration Services.

The chamber they entered contained a reception desk with a waiting area, and a number of smaller offices in the corridor beyond. The four of them stood in the line at the reception desk to sign in for their appointment. After the incident with Ernie, Ginny still found herself casting around anxiously for anyone she might know, but Draco didn't seem worried at all. On the contrary, he looked absolutely gleeful.

"What're you grinning about?" Tracey asked suspiciously.

"This is going to be so good!" Draco gloated. "I can't wait to see the looks on the evil duo's faces—"

"He means Fred and George," Ginny said dryly.

"—when they hear we've gotten married!" Draco chortled. "It'll be better than that time in second year when my father bought us all Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones, remember, Pucey?" He sighed. "I only wish Potter was here, too, that would make this even better."

"You're laughing now," Ginny said glumly. "You won't be laughing when my dad finds out." She felt nauseated at the very thought.

"I'm not afraid of your dad," Draco scoffed, but Ginny thought he looked a bit green, too.

"Then why do you look like you're going to puke?" Tracey said sweetly.

After signing in at the front desk, Tracey and Ginny went to sit down together to wait, while Adrian remained with Draco at the desk, awaiting the clerk to ascertain that everything was in order with their marriage license. As soon as they'd taken seats, Tracey turned on Ginny with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Are you sure you're okay going through with this, Ginny?"

"Of course I am," Ginny said, surprised. "Look, you saw what a mess I was before about it, but like I said, Draco and I talked it out. I mean, it was…more complicated than that, but suffice it to say, any issues I had about marrying him are done with."

Tracey cast her a speculative look. "Well, all right." She hesitated.

"What?" Ginny demanded.

"It's just—I know you need this townhouse and all that. And don't take this the wrong way, please," she added hastily. "It's just, well…I never really thought you to be the sort of person who's okay with—well, marrying someone you don't love."

Ginny stared at her blankly and said nothing, though her stomach felt as though it had flip-flopped.

"Or—you don't—" Tracey's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you actually _love_—"

"Well, that's all in order." Tracey shut her mouth and looked around as Draco and Adrian joined them, settling into seats beside them. Draco checked his watch and said, "Assuming everything's on time, we've just got a few minutes to wait."

Apparently, everything was on time, for a few minutes later, an elderly Ministry official with thick glasses emerged from one of the small offices and said, "Malfoy and Weasley?"

The four of them leapt to their feet and followed the official into his office. Tracey was looking mischievously delighted once again, though she did shoot Ginny a furtive look as they stepped inside. Adrian and Draco were, per usual, less demonstrative in their excitement, if they were excited at all, though Ginny thought Draco had an expectant air about him, at least.

The Ministry official tottered around behind his desk, accepting the marriage certificate from them, which they had previously filled out with all their information. He peered at Tracey and Adrian, who stood to the side of Draco and Ginny, respectively. "These are witnesses?" he asked.

"Yes," Draco and Ginny replied in unison. They exchanged equally impish smirks.

"Wands, please?"

Draco and Ginny both handed theirs over, and the official placed them on an instrument similar to the one used at the security desk in the atrium. This instrument issued two slips of paper for each wand, which the wizard compared to the information they'd filed in the marriage certificate. "Very well." He returned their wands to each of them. "I will proceed with the marriage then." He cleared his voice and said in a rather monotone voice, "We are here today to partake in a marital union between Draco Lucius Malfoy and Ginevra Molly Weasley…" This speech was rather less flowery and more to the point than the sort of opening words usually used at formal wedding celebrations. It was also much briefer, which Ginny appreciated.

Once the official had concluded the opening words, he instructed Draco and Ginny to join hands for the marital vows. "Repeat after me," he instructed them. "I, Draco Malfoy…"

Draco looked rather smug as he repeated, "I, Draco Malfoy…"

Draco continued to repeat his vows after the official, though Ginny thought she heard him stress the word "richer" when he got to that part; Ginny rolled her eyes at him. He looked so pleased with himself throughout the whole thing that Ginny was tempted to thwap him over the head for it. Being in the middle of the ceremony, of course, she did nothing of the sort, but instead proceeded to repeat the same vows.

"…for as long as we both shall live," she finally concluded. Past her issues with marrying Draco or not, she nearly choked a bit on those last words. The prospect of being married to Draco for the rest of her life was not really something she had thought all that much about.

"Do you have rings?" the official asked then.

Ginny opened her mouth to say no, for in fact, she had not even thought about getting rings, but Draco said, "Yes," before she'd spoken, and, to Ginny's astonishment, he turned to Adrian, who placed two rings in his hand.

"When did you get rings?" Ginny hissed.

"Never you mind, just take this one," he said, promptly dropping a wide, golden band into her palm, obviously sized for a man's finger.

"Please exchange rings," the official said. Ginny thought he sounded a bit bored with the whole thing. She held out her hand to Malfoy, who slipped a similar, though of course smaller, golden band onto her finger. It looked exactly the same as Malfoy's, if not as wide—except for the fact that it was inlaid with three small diamonds around the front. Ginny's eyes widened at the diamonds, which only made Draco look even more smug, if that was even possible. Suppressing the ridiculous urge to squeal over the diamonss, Ginny instead slipped Draco's ring onto his finger.

Once this was done, the Ministry official slid the marriage certificate towards them on the desk. "If you could each sign here, and here," he indicated, handing Ginny a quill. He nodded to Tracey and Adrian. "You two will need to sign as well."

Once everyone had signed, including the Ministry official, he concluded by saying, "By the power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic, according to its laws and regulations, I declare you bonded for life." He took up his own wand then, waved it quickly over Draco and Ginny, stamped their certificate, handed it to Draco, and said, "You are now married. Have a nice day."

* * *

**Chapter End Notes: **I wouldn't exactly say I was _inspired_ by Meredith and Derek's recent marriage on _Grey's Anatomy_for this scene; certainly the idea came from myself, and not the show. But, not knowing at all what a marriage at a courthouse would look like, I did re-watch that scene. I may have taken a few of the official's line directly from the show - I tried not to do word-for-word, but it may have followed a bit closely. Just wanted to give credit where credit is due!


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Notes:** I'm back! You probably shouldn't take my word for it, because I'm dreadful about updating, but I fully intend to finish the rest of this fic in the next month or so. There are about six chapters after this one, and I want to get it finished. Hopefully life won't intervene!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

As they crossed the Atrium for the second time that day, this time heading towards the fireplaces, Draco found himself torn between glee and anxiety. He wanted to give in to the glee and skip all the way out of the Ministry—well, not literally _skip_, a Malfoy would never be seen _skipping_—but then the anxiety would butt in, and he would remember that everyone, _everyone_would eventually find out about this. The thought of lording his new marriage over Ginny's brothers was a good one, mostly, but then, it was also entirely possible they would actually kill him, and that put a damper on things, just a bit.

"What is it with you?" Ginny asked dryly, sending him an odd look.

Draco swallowed, smoothing out his face into a blank expression. "What?" he said innocently.

"You keep beginning to smile," she said, "like a crazy person. And then your forehead goes all wrinkly and frowny—"

"My forehead does not wrinkle—"

"It does," Davis piped in.

Draco scowled at her. "It's just," he said, directing his gaze at Ginny, "that, now that we're actually married, I keep thinking about telling people, and—"

"Don't even think about that right now," Ginny said quickly. She shot a furtive glance behind her and sped up a little, probably without even realizing it. "Let's just focus on the positive. Like the house." She smiled, and it lit up her whole face. "Do we have it now?"

"Probably," Draco said negligently. "I'll need to check with my solicitor. If you like, we can swing up to my office and I can Floo him from—"

"No," Ginny cut in. "Let's just get out of here, before someone else sees us. We have to pick up Will, anyway. You can Floo him from Pansy's."

When they reached Pansy's, however, thoughts of the townhouse were momentarily diverted by a small commotion that greeted them in Pansy's sitting room. As the four of them walked into the room, there was a small burst of sparks, and then something light and colorful rained down over them as they stood in the doorway, stunned. After a moment, Draco realized it was confetti.

"What the hell?" Draco asked, looking around.

Pansy had laid out several platters of food across a long table—fruit, vegetables with dip, cheese and crackers, little sausages, and, of course, champagne. Pansy herself stood with Will beside the table, holding a fluted glass. She was dressed in a simple red dress that brought out the severity of her dark hair and eyes. "Congrats!" Pansy said, smiling wickedly at them. "I suppose congratulations _are_in order? Nothing went wrong?"

"No," Ginny said. Draco glanced over at her and saw that she was smiling a little. She seemed much more relaxed, now that they were out of the Ministry, which, in turn, made Draco relax. There'd been a small part of him that had wondered whether she was really just nervous at the thought of being seen, or if it hadn't been more. But she seemed fine now. "Everything went smashing," she said wryly.

"Oh, good." Pansy frowned and stuck a finger out at Davis, who stood off a little with Pucey. Both of them were looking rather smug. "But what are you doing here?" Pansy demanded. "You didn't go with them? They didn't go with you?" She rounded on Ginny and Draco.

"They did," Ginny confirmed, unabashed.

Davis opened her turquoise eyes wide. "Didn't Malfoy tell you? We were the wedding party."

"Party!" Will squealed, momentarily drawing everyone's attention. Pansy had put a ridiculous little party hat on him, which he was now trying to take off, in spite of his cheerful demeanor. "Yay!"

Draco snorted a laugh and crossed the room to his son, while Davis and Pansy continued to snipe at each other, Davis gloating about being present at the marriage, and Pansy griping about being relegated to the job of babysitter.

Draco picked Will up and led him over to the sofa, where he sat beside him. Taking the ridiculous hat off of him, he said, "Did you help Pansy put this party together?"

"Party," Will echoed. "Is it birthday?"

Draco smiled. "No. _Your_ birthday and _my_birthday are in a few months. At the beginning of the summer."

"And Mama?"

"Her birthday is at the end of the summer. It's not as important as our birthdays, though."

"I heard that," Ginny said, shooting him a narrow look. A moment later, however, she was drawn into conversation with Davis and Pansy, so she didn't have time to argue.

"So," Draco said, as Pucey wandered over, "do you know why we're having a party then?"

Will looked at him with wide eyes, waiting for more.

"Because," Draco said very seriously, "your mum and me got married."

"Married?" Will echoed, trying out the unfamiliar word.

"Yep. Married." Draco held up his hand, showing Will the gold band encircling his finger. "See?"

Will made a grab for Draco's hand, grinning at the ring. "Mine."

"No, it's mine," Draco corrected him.

"Mine."

"Mine."

"Mine," Will insisted.

"Anyway," Draco said, moving his hand out of his son's reach, "getting married is when two people promise to put up with each other forever so they can share each other's money and possessions and things."

Pucey came forward then, folding his arms over his chest. "There are other reasons people get married," he said, directing this comment at Will. Then his eyes slid up to Draco's face. "Of course, your dad has never been like other people."

"Why should I be?" Draco quipped.

Something like a grin ghosted over Pucey's face, there and gone before it could really be seen. He perched on the arm of a chair across from Draco. "So," he said. His expression was serious, although there was an amused glimmer in his eyes. "You actually did it. Married a Weasley."

"Yes." Draco's gaze wandered across the room towards Ginny. The three women had congregated by a fruit platter and were talking in hushed voices. "I suppose I did." It was a weird thought, really. He'd been so focused on the idea, in the past few weeks, that he'd gotten used to it. But hearing it said aloud, well, it was strange.

He tried to cast his mind back, and not only his mind, but his whole self. He tried to remember how he had thought and felt, back in fifth year at Hogwarts, before his father had gone to prison and everything had started to go wrong. Then he tried to mix the thought of being married to Ginny with that part of him, that old self. It couldn't work. They didn't mix, and anyway, Draco could hardly recall that old self. It wasn't that he didn't remember fifth year, he did. But it was hard to really recall the feelings he'd had back then, the way he had felt about the world. He remembered it. But he couldn't actually summon the feelings.

"Does it ever seem to you," Draco said slowly, "that the world has turned upside down?"

"Certainly it seems that way," Pucey agreed. "Sometimes."

"Everything used to be easier, didn't it," Draco mused. "Simpler."

Pucey shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't know that that has anything to do with how things are now, specifically. I mean," he went on, when Draco shot him a puzzled look, "that we were kids back then. When things were simpler. And maybe that's why things were simpler. Because we were kids."

"I suppose." Draco shifted. "But then, things always seemed…simple, too, for my parents. For my father, certainly." He shot Pucey a knowing look. "For your parents too, probably."

Pucey eyed him back, with just as knowing a gleam in his eye. "I don't think we're talking about things the same way here."

"What do you mean?"

"We are talking," Pucey said bluntly, "about the fact that you married a blood traitor and I'm dating a half-blood? And we don't care, neither of us?"

Draco was slightly taken aback by Pucey's directness. "Well," he said dubiously. "…I guess we are."

Pucey shrugged again. "So, I think things are simpler now. Now that we _don't_care. It was sort of exhausting, wasn't it, going on about Mudbloods and purebloods all the time? Keeping track of who you could like and who you couldn't? Because if you forgot, even for a minute, you'd be shunned, too?"

Draco frowned. He couldn't really ever remember feeling that way, like it was _hard_. But then, it really had come naturally to him, feeling that way. It hadn't ever been a pretense, some appearance he had to keep up. Except…

Except for Ginny. Because sometime in fifth year, Ginny Weasley had become extremely attractive, and it wasn't just the way she'd looked, either. It was something _about_her. Her fearlessness, her cool demeanor; it was the way she could be both bold and utterly calm and composed at the same time. And although Draco had never, not seriously, thought about dating her—because she was a blood traitor—it had been, well, difficult, to pretend as though she didn't interest him at all, to hide his admiration for her. It had been, as Pucey said, exhausting.

"I suppose it was," was all Draco said. "Sometimes."

Pucey shook his head. "It all seems so stupid now. When I first started having feelings for Tracey…I can still remember it. I thought I was so disgusted with myself at first. But then, after a while, I realized it wasn't that I was disgusted, it was that I was afraid. I was afraid of what people would say or think, how people would react, if I actually dated her. Which was stupid." He shook his head. "Because this was when I was in hiding. There _was_no one to see or to care. And by then, I had done far worse to make any of those people care—I had betrayed the Death Eaters, for Merlin's sake."

Draco felt an odd chill, hearing so many of his own feelings echoed. He did still care, though. A little. Because, even after everything, his father was still in his head. Draco still cared what Lucius said, what he thought.

The party went on for some time, as Pansy's hors d'oeuvres turned into lunch, and then a late coffee and dessert. It was sometime later when Draco managed to slip out of the room for just a bit to Floo his solicitor, to confirm that the townhouse was theirs now. He came back into the room a few minutes later, smiling triumphantly.

"It's official," he announced. "The townhouse is ours."

Ginny, who was in the process of eating a little cake, dropped the pastry back onto her plate, her eyes widening in excitement. "Really? You're sure? When can we go?"

Draco smirked, pulling a set of keys out of his inner jacket pocket. "Right now."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "But when did you get the keys?"

"Don't be stupid, Weasley, I've been carrying them around for a few days now." He grinned wickedly. "Just in case, you know."

"You can't call her Weasley anymore, you know," Pansy pointed out.

"Yes, he can," Ginny disagreed. Her tone was light, but she met Draco's gaze with a challenging stare. "Because I'll always be a Weasley. Nothing will change that."

Pansy shot him a quick look, as though she expected him to react badly to this comment. But Draco's grin only widened. He knew Ginny wasn't insulting him or trying to blow off their marriage. Ginny was Ginny, and she always would be, and he knew that.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Draco said, his tone mockingly flattering. Ginny rolled her eyes at him, but didn't seem able to contain a smile either.

"Oh, look at you two." Davis snorted in disgust. "You only have to ask, you know?"

Draco frowned at her. "What are you on about?"

Davis widened her eyes innocently. "Pucey and I can take Will back to Grimmauld Place and start getting his things packed up. If, you know, you and Ginny wanted to sneak over to the townhouse, and, er, look it over—"

Draco was too pleased by this prospect to even spare Davis a scowl.

And so, leaving Will in the safe care of Davis and Pucey, Draco and Ginny left Pansy's a little while later. They Apparated to a safe place a few blocks down from the townhouse and walked the rest of the way. It wasn't quite evening yet, but the sun wasn't so high in the sky anymore, and the air was cool.

The townhouse looked just as Draco remembered it, from the last time they'd been there, more than a year ago now. They hurried up the front steps and Draco quickly put the key in the lock to open the door.

"We'll have to put up protection spells and jinxes right away, of course," Ginny said. "There's nothing up yet, in fact, we probably could have Apparated straight in here, there aren't any wards up yet and—ooph! Malfoy!" she yelped, for Draco had just hoisted her off her feet and slung her over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. "Put me down!" she demanded, banging an ineffectual fist on his back.

"Now, now, Ginny," Draco said, knowing she couldn't see his mischievous smirk, "we can't break tradition, can we?" Pushing the door wide open with his free hand, he stepped over the threshold and into the house.

"Oh, yes, because this is just so traditional," Ginny said sarcastically, "tossing me over your shoulder—put me down!"

Still smirking, Draco carefully set her on her feet. He took a moment to look at her, her cheeks flushed and her skirt a little uneven, before reaching back to shut the door. "Well, we're not exactly a conventional married couple, are we?" he said innocently.

Ginny tugged her skirt down and shot him a slightly exasperated glance, but she couldn't keep a smile off her face a moment later, as she turned and looked around the entrance hall. It was slightly dark inside. Daylight shone in through windows on either side of the door, but it was fading daylight; the front of the house faced the east. Draco lit a lamp hanging off the wall with his wand, which cast a dim glow over the hall.

"Wow," Ginny said softly, looking pleased, "this is it. Our home."

"Too right," Draco murmured. "Much better than the last one. We should've got married ages ago. Right at the start, like your mum said."

"I don't think she was really serious about it at that point," Ginny said dryly. "And let's not mention my mum, shall we? I'm still putting off thinking about her, or any of my family, right now."

"Yeah, but I said, didn't I?" Draco reminded her. "Your mum and I already talked about it. She, at least, shouldn't be too upset we got married."

"She'll be upset we did it like this," Ginny said absently, still looking around. She peered down the corridor leading back into the house, her eyes bright with interest. "She'll have wanted a real wedding. But then, even she should understand why that wouldn't have been a good idea. For us."

"We could always do one later." Draco shrugged. "If she really wants. Once your family is more used to the idea, I mean."

"Yeah, sure," Ginny said, her tone sarcastic. "Like, maybe ten years from now. At least."

Draco stared at her silently, as her eyes continued to travel around the house. Strange as it was, considering, he had not really thought much about what being married to Ginny meant, for his future. He had not thought much about what it would be like to be with her for years, decades, the rest of his life. It suddenly seemed an enormous prospect, one that was just now hitting home for him.

A sliver of panic wormed through him, but he wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't the commitment; it wasn't that the idea of being with Ginny forever was unappealing, exactly. It just seemed…unreal. Of course, even if they hadn't gotten married, they likely would have continued to be together, for Will. And then what? It wasn't as though, once Will turned eleven and went off to Hogwarts, Draco would have told Ginny he didn't need her anymore and she could pack up and leave. They had been through too much for that.

But in spite of all that, he couldn't quite see it. Imagine it. What _would_life be like, once Will had gone to Hogwarts? Draco and Ginny would be alone, together, for most of the year, without Will there to tie them together. The thought was a little frightening, for some reason. He couldn't really say why.

Then he realized, as he watched Ginny, the gleam in her eyes, the brightness of her hair, the freckles spread across her face. Her lips, touched with a small smile, absently, as though she didn't even realize she was smiling.

He loved her.

The thought was startling. Something of it must have shown on his face, because when Ginny finally looked around and settled her gaze on him, she frowned. "What?" she asked.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"You look…weird." She ran a hand over her hair, a little subconsciously. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No." Draco coughed, doing his best to wipe his expression clean of whatever lingered there.

But Ginny tilted her head at him, still frowning. "Are you…okay?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Ginny pursed her lips, looking at him. Draco swallowed, wondering what was going through her head.

"It's just…" she started to say, but then she paused, hesitating. "Look, I know we talked about—about how I felt, doing this. Getting married. We talked pretty extensively about how I felt," she said wryly. She bit her lip. "But, are you—I mean—"

"Ginny." Draco made a small sound of amusement. "I was on this idea from the start. Even back when your mum first mentioned it, right after we'd been kicked out of the manor. The only reason I didn't pursue it then was because I didn't actually think it would work, remember?"

"Well…yes. I know." For a moment, she still looked at him. Her expression was almost puzzled. But then she shook her head. "Right. I know." All traces of uncertainty gone from her face, she smiled, a familiar, mischievous glow in her eyes. "So," she said. Slowly, as though not even realizing it, she moved towards him, drifting in close. "I'm thinking we should look over the master bedroom again. I know we…saw it…last time, but—" She put up some pretense of thinking very hard "—I don't really remember it very well, do you?"

"Don't remember?" Draco objected. "As though that was anything less than an unforgettable experience!"

Ginny stopped, now inches away from him. She looked him right in the eye and tilted her face upwards a little. "Remind me, then." Another woman might have spoken softly, breathlessly, obvious and therefore unappealing. But Ginny's words were bold and simple. The mischievous gleam in her eye was a challenge, one that Draco was both eager and apprehensive to take.

But take it he did, when she wrapped her arms around his waist and stood on her tip-toes to kiss him. Draco crushed his lips against hers; they came together like waves breaking against the sand, powerful, passionate. Draco had kissed Ginny many, many times before; he had lost count of how many times he had kissed her. It had become that natural. But this time, now, as he kissed her, he was aware of a deep ache in his chest, a rushing, roaring that was as exhilarating as it was painful. It wasn't anything he had ever felt before, a terrifying feeling, yet one that only intensified his desire for her. He didn't really think about it—there wasn't room in Draco's head for thoughts right now—but if he had, he might have realized what it meant.

_He loved her._

They left behind Ginny's little jacket and Draco's robe in the entrance hall before stumbling towards the staircase. Draco wasn't really sure how they made it upstairs; all he knew was that it took them a very, very long time, especially given that the master bedroom was on the third floor and at the opposite end of the corridor. They first passed through the master suite's sitting room to get into the bedroom. Two windows faced the front street, but the shades were drawn, and the room was dark.

There was a bed – a bed that Draco remembered from the last time they had visited, though being dark as it was, he could barely see it, and backed into it without realizing it. He let himself fall back, bringing Ginny down over him as he went. Her fiery hair fell around his face in waves, burning brightly in the dark room, and he tangled a hand in it as her lips trailed down his neck, across his collarbone. He was vaguely aware of her undoing the buttons of his shirt, exposing more of his skin for her to explore. Her lips left an imprint upon every part of him, searing through him, as though she could reach through his body and into his soul.

Once again Draco was aware of that rushing, terrifying feeling in his chest, and for a moment, it almost gave him pause. But he didn't want to think about it, didn't want to examine it, not then, not now. Pushing all thought aside—it wasn't that difficult, really—he seized Ginny by the waist and rolled them over, pinning her under him. His shirt was fully undone now, and only hanging on to him by one sleeve, which he yanked off and tossed aside. Ginny wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, her fingernails softly scraping the hair at the base of his skull. A rush of pleasure flooded him, a growl escaping his lips as they melded against hers. Her other hand was hot against his bare back, pressing into his skin, as though trying to bring him closer, feel every part of him against her.

One of Draco's hands left her waist, drifted down, and caressed her knee. He slid his hand up, over the inner part of her thigh, his touch feather-light against her skin, deliberately teasing, withholding. Her skirt was impossibly tight, which might have been nice in other circumstances, but was only a hindrance now. But that was easily dealt with; Ginny, ever obliging, lifted her hips and guided his hand back to the skirt's zipper. In a few short seconds, the skirt was gone, discarded as easily as his shirt.

His fingers still drifting up her leg, across her hip, Draco pressed a kiss against her bare shoulder. There was something so precious about her skin, fair like ivory but dusted with those freckles. An oddly possessive feeling surged through Draco. It wasn't unfamiliar, but it should have brought with it a sense of dominance, a need to assert himself in a forceful, if passionate, way. Instead, the next kiss he pressed against her shoulder was lighter, gentler. As brave, as strong, as daring as Ginny was, she seemed suddenly delicate to him, tenuous. And even though he had banished all thought, an image of her rose in his mind, unbidden. Ginny, in his room at Grimmauld Place, kneeling on his bed, when they'd first tried to work things out and failed. Her expression calm, except for her eyes, dark and flooded with pain, raw with vulnerability. Ginny, flinching away from him when he'd tried to comfort her.

She wasn't flinching now, though her body shuddered beneath his fingertips, every touch awakening her more to him. But nevertheless, the image was there, in his head, the memory of how she'd looked then, so hurt and so afraid. And the feeling surged through Draco again, not possessive but protective. And the next kiss he pressed into her collarbone was even softer, more tender, and the hand he placed flat against her hip was wary, tentative even.

Ginny didn't pause or say anything, but, as though sensing his hesitancy—perhaps subconsciously—her own movements grew bolder, more assertive. She reached for the waist of his trousers and fumbled with them; in a few short minutes, she had them off him. He'd pulled back momentarily, to kick off the rest of his clothing, and when he returned she grasped him firmly by the arms and pulled him, down and around. They rolled again until Draco lay flat on his back, Ginny leaning over him. She still wore her camisole, though it was unbuttoned and hung open in the front, barely clinging on to her shoulders. Draco slipped it off as she brought her lips down upon his, kissing him deeply, fiercely. Draco kissed her back like he had never kissed her before. The ache in his chest was still there, stronger than ever, threatening to burst through him with its intensity, though he had all but forgotten it. A small puff of air escaped Ginny's lips, a tiny gasp, and she pulled back from him, her hands going still against him. He could hear her breath hitching in her throat as he opened his eyes, confused. She was still close, not quite sitting upright, but there was a troubled look in her eyes as she stared down at him.

"What?" Draco demanded, the word barely leaving his lips, as he was out of breath. Apprehension flickered through him, but she did not look afraid, or hurt, only a little…unsure. Concerned, even. "What is it?"

She opened her mouth, but didn't say anything at first. "I—" She broke off, and something like frustration flickered over her face. "Draco…I—" She swallowed.

"What?" he repeated. He reached up, running his thumb over her cheek, and her eyes fell shut, a small shiver running through her body. "What's wrong?"

There was a moment's pause, a moment that lasted like an eternity to Draco, as he wondered if she was going to pull back, to stop, for whatever it was that was bothering her. But then she opened her eyes and looked at him, and said, "Nothing." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Nothing."

Her knee dug into the side of his hip, her bare skin burning against his, like electricity running through their entwined bodies. And as Draco drew her down against him, a ridiculous feeling, like happiness, swept through him, warring with the ache roaring inside of him, the fear, the pain that loving Ginny Weasley brought him.

* * *

Hours later, Ginny lay awake next to a sleeping Malfoy, in the bed in the master suite. It was likely only just reaching the first hours of the night, or the late evening, really, but Ginny had not had much sleep last night, and she didn't think Draco had either, so the both of them had drifted off to sleep some time ago. But she was awake now, Draco's warm body pressed against hers, and a million thoughts running through her head.

She had nearly said it. Nearly.

Tracey's words echoed in her head, over and over. _It's just, well…I never really thought you to be the sort of person who's okay with—well, marrying someone you don't love._

And though Ginny had never really thought about it—though it hadn't really crossed her mind, not once, since she'd made things up with Draco and asked him to marry her—internally, her automatic response was, _Well, don't I love him?_

A shiver ran through her at the thought. Ginny scrunched down further in the bed, instinctively shifting closer to Draco, her source of warmth. After all this time—after all they had been through—the idea shouldn't have seemed so foreign, so absurd. She'd been living with Draco for years now, though admittedly, when she'd first moved in, she hadn't considered him a friend, or even someone that she liked at all. But time had changed that, their close contact had changed that. He _was_a friend now, and someone that she cared about, someone she needed, someone…

Someone she loved?

She couldn't fathom it. She'd tried to say it, earlier, as she'd lain over him and looked into his eyes, but she couldn't get it out. She still couldn't seem to make it real to her. Now, turning her head slightly, she looked at him, and tried to imagine saying it aloud.

"Draco?" she whispered.

There was no response. He didn't even twitch in his sleep. Moving carefully, Ginny eased herself up onto an elbow, her face inches from his. "Malfoy," she said, her voice pitched low. "Are you awake?"

Still no response. His eyes remained shut, his breathing slow and even. Screwing up her eyes a little, as though anticipating something awful, she opened her mouth and said, very quietly, "I…love—" She blew out a breath, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes. He couldn't even hear her, she might have been alone, for all it mattered, and she still struggled to get the words out.

She no longer had reservations about him; it wasn't that she was afraid to trust him anymore. It just felt…weird. Before she could really think about it, she said, very quickly, in a single breath, "Draco, I love…" She flinched "…you."

He slept on, totally unaware of her words or her struggle. Ginny rolled her eyes at herself, still staring down at Draco. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, she mouthed the words _I love you_over and over. She tried to imagine actually saying it to him when he was awake, and looking at her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a screeching sound emitting itself from Draco's wand, accompanied by a blue, blinking light. Draco's eyes flew open and he sat up immediately, his head connecting with Ginny's chin. Both of them swore loudly, Ginny's eyes watering with pain.

"Bloody hell, were you watching me sleep?" Draco snapped.

"Never mind, what _is_that?" Blinking, Ginny pointed at his wand.

Draco snatched it up immediately, and both the light and the sound shut off. "I cast a quick ward on the door when we came in," he said in a hushed voice. He hurried out of the bed and grabbed his trousers. "In case anyone tried to get in. There aren't any other hexes or jinxes up yet."

"You someone's _here?_" Ginny demanded. She slid out of bed, tripping out of the sheets wrapped around her waist. She snatched her skirt up off the floor and quickly pulled it on and zipped it up. She swiftly scanned the room, but didn't see her camisole anywhere; instead, she grabbed Draco's shirt and hastily pulled it on, haphazardly doing up some of the buttons. Draco was done before she was; as soon as he'd pulled his trousers on, he'd dashed out of the room, his wand in hand, bare-chested.

"Malfoy, wait!" Ginny hissed after him, fumbling with a button. She cast around for her wand and found it on the floor beside the bed. She picked it up and hurried out after Draco.

They were on the third floor; she'd nearly forgotten. Ginny hardly remembered coming up the stairs to begin with. She emerged out into the corridor and paused, listening intently, even as she watched Draco's blond head disappearing down the stairs. But she couldn't hear anything up here except for Draco's footsteps, so, cursing, she ran after him.

She stubbed a toe on a step and bit back a yelp. It was dark outside now, and there was nothing lit in the townhouse; she could barely see anything. "_Lumos!_" she whispered, her wand tip alighting.

By the time she had reached the second floor, which opened out into a huge lounge, Draco had clearly already disappeared down into the entrance hall. As she rounded the landing, she heard a distinctive _click_, and then the sound of the front door opening. Hurrying across to the main stairwell, she glanced out over the railing, down into the entrance hall, just in time to see two shadowy figures step inside. Instantly, Ginny ducked down; she was an easy target, just above the hall. Crouching low, she inched along the floor towards the top of the stairwell, trying to peer around to see how far Draco had got—

Then, several things happened at once.

A light flew on somewhere down in the entrance hall. Ginny caught a quick glance of Draco, at the bottom of the stairwell, as someone let out a furious roar and shouted, "Malfoy!" A jet of light exploded in the air, aimed at the base of the stairwell, where Draco stood.

Ginny gasped and looked around, through the banister railing, just in time to see Draco dodge a hex, yelping as it barely missed him. Ginny looked towards the door furiously and finally identified the intruders—none other than Fred and George, both with their wands raised, looking daggers.

"Oi!" Indignant, Ginny leapt to her feet. "Stop!"

Neither twin took heed of this. Fred glanced up at her with a fierce scowl; the sight of her there only seemed to increase his anger. George didn't even look at her, so intent was he upon Draco. He shot another curse Draco's way. Draco had dived beneath the second floor banister, so Ginny couldn't see him, but he must've shot a curse back at George because two jets of light met midway in the air, ricocheting off each other. One hit the wall beside the front door, knocking a chunk of the plaster out.

Appalled, Ginny rounded the stairwell and came thundering down to the entrance hall. "Not in my bloody house!" she muttered angrily. As she reached the bottom, George, forgetting his wand altogether, threw himself forward at Draco. Fred raised his wand at them, squinting, looking as though he were trying to get a curse in without hitting George. Ginny took advantage of his hesitation and aimed her wand at him. "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Fred barely had time to register a look of outraged shock at her before he froze up like a board and toppled over. Ginny didn't feel the least bit sorry for him as he crashed to the ground. George, who had just gotten a hold of Draco and was attempting to wrestle him to the ground, looked around at the sound. Furious, Ginny raised her wand again and tried to disarm him, but George leapt back, out of the way. Free of her brother's clutches, Draco sped past her, just as George shot another curse off at him.

"George, stop!" Ginny hollered. "Draco, go—just go! Get out!"

Draco, apparently, didn't need to be told twice. Darting past the frozen, fallen Fred, he practically threw himself out the front door, narrowly dodging another curse from George. A moment later, Ginny heard a _pop!_as he Disapparated.

Ginny whirled around for, just as she suspected, George made as though to chase after Draco, even though he had no way of following him once he'd Apparated. Taking him by surprise, Ginny leveled her wand at him and shouted, "_Impedimenta!_"

George staggered back as the jinx hit him. Bowled over, he yelled, "Oi! I'm your brother!"

"And you're in _my_house!" Ginny raged. George managed to pick himself back up, scowling. Ginny leveled her wand at him threateningly. "How dare you break in here and start attacking us!"

"_Your_house, is it?' George said, breathing heavily. "And we weren't attacking you!"

"I don't care, even so—"

"Take the curse off Fred!" George demanded, wildly leveling a finger at his fallen brother.

"Only if you two promise to stay put and leave off Malfoy!"

"Don't have much choice now, do we?" George growled. "Git scarpered."

Ginny said nothing. She only glared at George, tapping her foot impatiently.

"All right, all right, we promise." George raked a hand through his disheveled hair. "For now," he muttered.

Promptly, Ginny turned and removed the Body-Bind off of Fred, who leapt to his feet as soon as he could move. He was scowling fiercely, glaring out the door as though he could still see Draco. Ginny shut the door firmly; any Muggle walking past outside could've seen anything.

"Now," Ginny said, turning to face the both of them. "What, in the name of Merlin, are you doing here?"

"What are _you_doing here, Ginny?" George demanded quietly.

Ginny repressed the urge to roll her eyes. They had made her feel guilty, feel badly for her decisions before; she wasn't going to allow it this time. "I live here," she said impatiently.

"And how did that happen?" Fred quipped. His cheeks were red, either from anger or exertion or both. "Only, we thought Malfoy couldn't get this house unless he…" Fred swallowed, looking as though he were about to choke "…married…someone."

"He did marry someone," Ginny said belligerently. She hadn't intended this. She had wanted to be gentle with her family, break it to them carefully, nicely. But as far as she was concerned, the twins' behavior negated any of that. "Me."

Fred shut his eyes, looking as though he was about to be sick. George shook his head, his jaw set in an ugly expression. "We thought as much."

"How, exactly, did you think that?" Ginny demanded in exasperation. "How did you know we were here?"

With his eyes still shut, Fred said, "Could you please put some clothes on before we have this conversation?"

Ginny glanced down at her mismatched clothing and folded her arms across her chest, which was clad in Malfoy's wrinkled blue button-down. "I am wearing clothes," she snapped. "And I'm perfectly comfortable the way I am. Now, are you going to answer my question, or am I going to have to—"

"We didn't know you were here," George grunted. "Not for sure, anyway. We guessed."

"We ran into Blake Summers," Fred said, finally opening his eyes, "who'd had a nice little chat with Ernie Macmillan—"

"—whom _you_, apparently, ran into at the Ministry today." George glared. "Funny. What were you doing at the Ministry, Gin?"

Ginny stared stonily back at him, refusing to allow this to turn into an interrogation. They were answering _her_questions, not the other way around.

"Anyway," Fred said quickly; now that he was calming down, he seemed a little wary of the expression on Ginny's face, "Ernie had said he saw you there with Malfoy, and that Malfoy said you were seeing somebody about acquiring the townhouse. _This_townhouse."

"And we knew," George said evenly, "that, supposedly, the only way you could get your hands on this house was to get married—"

"We might've found a way around that," Ginny said crossly.

"Well, obviously, you didn't," George said sarcastically. "As you've just admitted you married him!"

"My point was, you didn't just have to assume I'd married him!" Ginny burst out. "And come barging in here! And even though I have married him, that doesn't give you any right to break in here and start attacking—"

"—your husband," Fred finished unhelpfully.

Willing herself not to hex the both of them, Ginny inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to calm herself. "Look, you two," she said, "the time is long past that I will apologize to either of you for what I decide to do with _my_life. I've married Draco, and there's nothing either of you can do about it."

"But why, Ginny?' George said quietly. "How could you?"

Ginny looked at him. "I'm honestly not sure why you're so surprised."

"Well, all right, you've been living with Malfoy for a while now," Fred said, "and if you two seemed—er—chummy—well, we didn't like that, but it was what it was, and, who knows, maybe one day you might've—"

"—had done with him," George said flatly.

"I mean, I always thought—" Fred shrugged uncomfortably. "I mean, Harry—"

"_Harry?_" Ginny said incredulously. She choked back a laugh. "Harry? You didn't really think I was going to marry him one day, did you? I dated him for a few weeks in fifth year—"

"Yeah, but you were in love with him a lot longer than that," George pointed out.

"Maybe I was," Ginny said, unabashed, "but Harry's been gone for years, George, for eight years! Was I just supposed to wait around for him all this time? I hope he comes back one day, I really do, but I can't just put my life on hold until then."

"But to marry Malfoy—"

"I have a family now," Ginny said quietly. "You know that, both of you. Even if you don't accept Draco as my family, I'd have thought by now you accepted Will as. You can't think that by now, after all I've gone through for him, that I would ever just leave him. Let him go."

She met George's eyes. He was a parent too, he should understand. "He's my son," she said resolutely. "Nothing will ever change that."

"Fine," George said angrily, "but plenty of people are parents to a kid without being married!"

"But Draco's my family too, don't you hear what I'm saying?' Ginny shot back. "I have no plans to leave him either."

"Not ever?" Fred said incredulously.

Ginny shrugged. "I can't see into the future. Anything could happen. But no, I don't have _plans_to leave him, ever."

For a moment, the twins stared at her in silence, Fred looking a bit shocked, George angry. Then George stood, leveling his gaze at her.

"So you care about him," he said. It wasn't a question, but he stared at her, waiting for confirmation.

For her part, Ginny only looked at him in mild exasperation and said dryly, "Yes. I care about him. I would've thought I'd made that clear by now."

"Fine. Do you love him?" George said, speaking the words like a challenge. "Because I can't believe you would've married him, Ginny. If you don't love him."

Ginny bit her tongue on an instant retort, realizing she wasn't sure how to answer that question, or at least, realizing she didn't want to. Remembering the dilemma she'd been having just before the twins arrived, she stifled the ridiculous urge to laugh. "I married him for a number of reasons," she finally said, "which are complicated, and various, and none of your business."

* * *

Ginny was determined to break the news to the rest of her family—namely, her parents—the way she'd meant to, calmly and gently, so she made the twins swear to keep their mouths shut to everyone. Unfortunately, she didn't know how sure she could be about this, as they hadn't exactly left the townhouse in a very agreeable manner. So, glumly, Ginny had resolved to tell her parents about it as soon as she could, before the twins could go blabbing off the way Ernie had. Granted, Ernie had not realized that she and Draco were getting married, nor had he any reason to think to keep quiet about it, but Ginny found herself disgruntled with him anyway.

So the next day, while Draco saw to getting their things moved in and the house protected with every jinx and hex they knew, Ginny went to the Burrow, in the evening, to see her parents. When she arrived at the Burrow, she was relieved to see that her father was already home from work, and even more relieved to see that her parents were alone.

Though she hadn't let them know ahead of time that she was coming, her mother was very happy to see Ginny and immediately insisted that she sit for dinner. Ginny eased herself into a chair uncertainly, with her father, while her mother bustled around the kitchen.

"So, Ginny," her father said pleasantly, "how are you? How is Draco?"

Immediately put on her guard, Ginny looked at him sharply. Her father never asked after Draco; for that matter, he didn't usually ask after Will even. "Why?" Ginny demanded. "Have you talked to Fred and George?"

Her father looked taken aback. He raised an eyebrow. "No. Not in a few days, I haven't."

"Why, Ginny? Are the twins all right?" her mother asked, looking slightly worried.

"Erm—yes. Yes, they're just fine." Ginny cleared her throat, hoping she wasn't blushing. "Yes, they're fine, I saw them just—yesterday."

But her father was looking at her with an entirely too knowing expression now. "Ginny," Arthur said, his tone delicate, "did the twins have some sort of altercation with Draco?'

Ginny hesitated. "Well—"

"Oh, no." Molly turned from the stove with a disapproving expression. "What have they done now?"

"Nothing," Ginny said hastily. "Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway."

Both of her parents looked skeptical at this. Ginny sighed. "It's just, they came to—er—visit, and, well, you know how they are. They don't like Draco, he doesn't like them. Really, nothing happened," she insisted. A second later, she wondered why she was going through so much trouble to convince her parents that everything was fine when, really, she was coming to tell them she'd married Draco.

"Anyway," Ginny went on, wishing she'd never mentioned Fred and George to begin with, "to answer your question, Draco is, er—fine." She shot a look at her dad, still finding it odd that he'd asked to begin with.

"And Will?" her mother asked, momentarily turning back to her cooking.

"Also fine. He's at home with Draco."

Her mother turned, frowning a little. "At home? At Grimmauld Place, you mean?"

Ginny drummed her fingers on the tabletop nervously. For a moment, she didn't say anything, only looking between her mother and father. "Listen," she said, hesitating a little. "The thing is, I, er…need to talk to you about something."

Her mother's frown immediately became one of concern, and her father furrowed his brow. "Is something wrong, Ginny?' Molly Weasley asked.

"Erm…no. Not wrong, no. It's just that…" Ginny took a deep breath. "The thing is, we—me and Malfoy, I mean—had been talking a lot about what we were going to do now. Where we were going to live. Neither of us fancy staying at Grimmauld Place long-term, and obviously, we can't go back to the flat, or one like it. It's not safe."

"No, it isn't," her father agreed gravely.

"Hmph." Her mother placed a hand on her hip. "I think that townhouse is the best option. It's a place well-suited for a family, it can be kept quite safe, and it's already Draco's property, so you wouldn't need to waste money on finding a place."

"Well," Ginny said slowly, "that's what we thought too, actually."

Arthur Weasley frowned. "Isn't this the place that was being kept from Draco?"

"Yes, but not by the Ministry," Ginny explained. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure how much her father knew about the situation with the townhouse. "It's his property, not his father's. The problem was, there were certain—er—stipulations that needed to be met in order for him to get it."

"Silly things," her mother said, tending to the stove. "He needs to be married, for one thing." Suddenly, her mother rounded on her, sending Ginny a sharp glance. "You said _were?_"

"Wh-what?' Ginny stuttered, taken aback.

"You said there _were_ stipulations. That it _was_a problem." Her mother faced her fully now, both hands on her hips, in that terrifying, all too familiar position. She eyed Ginny suspiciously. "Ginevra Weasley, what have you done?"

"Ginny." Her father sounded positively alarmed. "You're not thinking of—"

"Not thinking," Ginny cut in quickly. She swallowed, internally wincing at the momentary look of relief on her father's face. "Already thought, and—already done."

"Oh, Ginny, you didn't!" Her mother was the picture of dismay.

"Just to clarify—" Arthur Weasley had shut his eyes, looking as though he were trying to ward off a bad head cold "—we are talking about—"

"Malfoy and I got married," Ginny said, her voice rather strained.

Silence met her words. Her mother, not surprisingly, recovered first. "But Ginny! Without telling any of us? You just eloped? We should've talked about this, we should've had a wedding—"

Her father pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes still closed. "I'm not sure that would've been a good idea."

"Yes." Ginny seized on that, before her mother could go on or her father could voice his objections, which she was not looking forward to. "Yes, that's what we thought. There's just too much—erm—well, bad blood, so to speak, and we didn't want to cause any unnecessary disagreements, or—or bad feelings or a fuss, so—well—I mean, this was all just in the interests of claiming the townhouse, so…" She trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

Her father had finally opened his eyes, and was now wiping his glasses studiously, not looking at Ginny. "That's all it is?" he said mildly. "For the house?"

She thought he sounded disappointed, though Ginny would have thought that marrying someone for material gain was something he would have found preferable to her marrying Malfoy for love. And once again, as with the twins, Ginny found herself wanting to explain the whole truth—which was difficult, the whole truth of her feelings still not being quite clear to Ginny herself. Yet she _had_married Draco, and she felt that, to give the impression that this wasn't something she considered permanent—or at least, possibly permanent—would be misleading.

But for some reason, telling the twins that she even cared about Draco was not as difficult as telling her father.

"The thing is," Ginny said evenly, not meeting her father's gaze, "that, well—I realize that this is, at the core of it, making a commitment to Draco—and to Will," she added, wanting to remind both her parents that this all stemmed from Will, really. "And I'm prepared for that. I already _have_done that. And—and I'm sorry," she said desperately, because the last thing she wanted was another fight, another estrangement, as had happened at Christmas those years ago, when she had first moved in with Draco. "I'm sorry, because I don't do this to make any of you uncomfortable, or to cause you any—any anger or anything. I mean, I know you don't like Draco, either of you—"

"Hmm." Her mother pursed her lips. "I find him unexpectedly polite, most of the time. He's quite civil." She shot her husband a pointed look, as though indicating that he should agree with her, or at least acknowledge Draco's civility.

Her father sighed. Arthur Weasley looked, if anything, Ginny thought, tired. "Draco has done work for the Order," he said. "However forced into it he felt, he did it. From the little I've heard of it, he did his part and didn't back down from it."

Ginny was a little amazed to hear this praise for Draco from her father. She kept silent, afraid to interrupt this little miracle.

"People that I trust—Remus, your brother Charlie—trust Draco. Within reason," he added. Ginny nodded; even _she_ trusted Draco within reason. She knew exactly what Draco was. She might—_might_—love him, but she had no illusions about him.

"I am willing," Arthur went on, "to take them at their word. From what _I_know of Draco, these past few years, he has acted, for the most part, in the best interests of his family. And that is admirable," he admitted.

But then his expression grew troubled, even dark. "However," he said, "nearly ten years ago now, Draco joined the ranks of You-Know-Who and allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Death Eaters who were responsible for what happened to Bill. He attempted to kill Dumbledore, more than once. And in addition to that, he has belittled and despised this family for most of his life, for no more reason than that we do not care for purity of blood." Now, finally, her father raised his eyes and met Ginny's gaze. "And I will never forget that, Ginny. Any of it."

"Dad, nor—nor will I," Ginny said, desperately wishing to convey her own complicated feelings. "I haven't forgotten it, any of it. And I don't think Draco should be allowed to forget it, either." She swallowed. "But…we can't live in the past. We can't forever hold grudges for things long since done, things that can never be taken back. Especially…" She took a deep breath. "Especially against someone whose crimes were, in the main, committed before he was even of age."

She was worried her dad would take this as her making excuses for Draco, but Arthur looked thoughtful. "Do you believe that he has changed, Ginny?" he asked abruptly.

Ginny was surprised. "I think that people rarely change radically, in the course of their lives," she said honestly. "But I think Draco can—and has begun to—evolve from the views that were pressed in on him as a boy. And I think he very much values a world without You-Know-Who, now, rather than one with him in it."

Her father seemed to seriously consider this answer. "Yes," he said pensively, obviously thinking on her last words, "a world without You-Know-Who would seem a better alternative to a man, once he's become a father."

"It didn't for Lucius," Ginny said quietly.

"No." Arthur looked at Ginny, meeting her gaze quite calmly. "But then, Draco is not his father."

* * *

"On the whole," Ginny said to Draco, as she hung a shirt in the spacious closet, "I don't think they're too keen to have you over for family dinners or anything—"

"As if I wanted to," Draco muttered.

"But—" She shot him a warning look "—they seemed to accept us being married. Well, I think my mum is still hoping to throw some kind of party—Merlin, what a nightmare that would be—"

"And your dad?" Draco said. Ginny could tell he was trying to sound disinterested, but the set of his shoulders was tense. She shrugged.

"I don't know that he'll ever like you," she said truthfully, "but he knows that I do, and he's okay with that. I think he feels that it's probably best if the two of you avoided each other as much as possible, though."

"Good," Draco said, sounding thoroughly relieved. "I was afraid he was going to want some—some dinner or something, just us and your parents—"

"Oh, no," Ginny said grimly. "No, I think he knows that that wouldn't end well."

"Too right," Draco mumbled. "So what about everyone else? Bill and Fleur? Charlie? Your other friends?"

"I don't know." Ginny sighed. "On the one hand, telling everyone separately, privately, is easier, but it does mean going through it over and over again. Maybe we _should_just have a party, and announce it there."

"Well, let's take a few days, anyway," Draco groused. "Like we'd intended to in the first place, before the evil duo broke in. Besides," he said, sounding almost hopeful, "in a few days' time, they might've told everyone anyway. Or do you really expect them to keep their mouths shut that long?"

Ginny didn't say so, but she couldn't help hoping that might be the case, too.

The next day, however, something happened that drove worries about her friends and family from Ginny's mind. She'd gone to the Ministry to finalize some paperwork for the townhouse, and on her way back to the lift, she'd decided to drop in and visit some of her ex-coworkers in Auror Headquarters, since she was on Level Two anyway. As soon as she'd strolled in and run into Eddie Carmichael, however, he'd opened his mouth to speak before she could even say hello.

"Ginny." Carmichael looked a little nervous. "I s'pose you heard about the breach at the manor?"

Ginny stared at him, caught unawares, her mouth half-open to greet him. She snapped her jaw shut and blinked before saying, "What? A breach at…the manor? You mean Malfoy Manor?"

Carmichael looked like he could've kicked himself. "Oh…you hadn't heard. I see. Well, erm—"

"Not so fast," Ginny said, as he made to turn and leave. "_What_breach at Malfoy Manor? You mean someone tried to get in? What happened?"

Carmichael shrugged. "Not sure. An alarm was set off; it seemed someone had done a spell inside. We got on the scene, but the entire manor was swept and searched. There was no one there. And I don't see how anyone could've gotten in, anyway, without our people seeing them, or without them setting off more alarms."

Ginny, however, was not so sure. In fact, she was highly suspicious that someone like Lucius Malfoy knew ways into the manor that the Aurors had never dreamed of. She resolved to find out, and she knew just how to do it—when she and Draco had moved into the townhouse, they had brought Nuly and Tasher, their house-elves, back to live with them. (While they had been living in the flat, Draco had sent them to work at Hogwarts, as they didn't really have need of them in the flat, and it was so small that the house-elves would have just crowded it anyway.)

Back home, Nuly told her there was indeed a way into the manor that probably couldn't be detected by the Ministry—a tunnel, which by the sound of it, led far enough out into the woods by the manor that it probably came out past the borders the Ministry had set up. And getting in through a tunnel, after all, was not something one needed magic for.

Armed with this information, Ginny debated with herself what to do with it. She didn't relish the idea of sharing the information about the breach with Draco, because it likely would upset him. At the same time, she didn't relish the idea of keeping it from him either. She was keeping a secret from him as it was, and there was really no need not to tell him about this. Unless…

Unless Draco knew something about who might've breached the manor. As much as she tried not to think about it, there was something Malfoy was still not telling her. He'd admitted as much. What had he said? That he'd discovered something at the Riddle House…something involving his father?

Ginny caught her breath. Could he be hiding his father at the manor?

But Draco had insisted that the secret he was keeping couldn't possibly bring any harm to anyone, to Will, or to her. And if Lucius were really in such close proximity…that _would_present a danger, wouldn't it? He had tried to kidnap Will before, and he didn't give a damn about Ginny. Ginny knew he would kill her in a heartbeat if he thought he needed to, to get to Will.

But then, she thought doubtfully, Malfoy had always had a blind spot, where his father was concerned. Maybe Lucius had convinced him that he wouldn't try to take Will again, that he wouldn't even hurt Ginny. Ginny didn't believe it for a second, but she could see where Draco might.

If that was so…then she needed to know. And asking Draco about it wouldn't be the best way.

She very, very briefly considered contacting an Order member, merely for back-up—that would be the smart thing to do—but she dismissed the idea immediately. Even if he was hiding Lucius Malfoy, she couldn't get Draco into that kind of trouble. She couldn't betray him like that. If what she feared was true, then she would confront Draco and they would handle it privately. All that meant, then, was that she had to be on her guard.

And so, arming herself with her wand, she cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself and Apparated to Wiltshire.

It was still light outside, though storm clouds were gathering overhead, making it appear later than it really was. Ginny set about searching for the entrance to the tunnel, as Nuly had described it, and quickly located it. It was utterly dark inside the tunnel. She'd been walking for what must have been close to an hour, she thought, when the tunnel sloped upwards and she spotted a small trapdoor. Carefully, she eased it open.

She blinked several times and paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness that met her. It was several minutes before she could see well enough to take a step up and come out into the pantry—a pantry in the kitchens, just as Nuly had told her. She eased the pantry door open slowly and stepped out. She was nervous, but she still had the Disillusionment Charm on, so she couldn't be seen, unless she moved too quickly.

She turned right and peered around the corner, into the kitchen. She was surprised to see that it was brightly lit with candles, placed along the counters and the cabinets. Her eyes traveled along the wall and, with a start, fell upon someone standing at the opposite end of the kitchen. Stepping as quietly as she could, Ginny went forward, into the kitchen. The intruder was crouched down, his back to Ginny, rummaging through one of the cabinets. Then—suddenly—he stood and turned, and Ginny saw him head-on.

It was…_Blaise_.

Ginny couldn't help it—she gasped, and stumbled back, right into a stool sitting along the back wall. She knocked into it so violently that it toppled over to the floor with a loud clatter.

Blaise's eyes snapped towards the stool, his entire body going still and tense. He held a bottle of wine in his hand—from the cabinet—and he suddenly brandished it like a weapon. "Who's there?" he said sharply.

Ginny heard the words, but didn't comprehend them. She could do nothing but stand there and stare at him. This was…impossible—someone was using Polyjuice Potion, to make themselves look like Blaise, because Blaise was _dead_…but no, that couldn't be right, if he was dead, then they wouldn't have any piece of him to use in Polyjuice Potion…he was dead, he'd _been_dead for eight years—

Except that he wasn't. Because he was standing right there, in front of her. Blaise, just as he always had been, except older, little differences, here and there…his hair a little bit longer, a little disheveled, and he was somehow both thinner and more filled out…no longer a scrawny teenager, but not as well-fed, not as cared for…

And something frightening in his eyes. A darkness. Not spite or disinterest, nothing so simple as that. Something that ran deeper. A haunted, hollow look.

"Who's there?" he repeated, his voice hard. "I know you're there. Show yourself!"

She didn't want to. A part of her desperately didn't want to, didn't want to talk to him, to see his reaction when he saw her, to make it real. But she was so stunned that she couldn't think, and there was something easy about following a simple order. So, mechanically, she raised her wand and tapped it upon her head. A cold feeling ran over her, from the tips of her feet to her head, and when it had gone, she knew he could see her.

His face went utterly ashen. The reality of what was happening began to sink in to Ginny. Like a great weight, a stone slab, pressing down on her. She thought she might be sick.

"Shit," Blaise said, staring at her.

Ginny wanted to speak, but she had forgotten how. She couldn't even open her mouth. She was sure, if she did, that she would vomit.

"What—did—" For a moment, Blaise seemed on the verge of saying something. A near scowl passed over his face, but it was gone in an instant. With a completely blank expression, he said, "How did you know I was here?"

At last, Ginny opened her mouth to respond—and immediately felt the bile rising in her throat. Lurching away from him, she barely made it to the sink on her left before she gagged up the little she had eaten, several hours earlier. When she had recovered, she turned on the tap, shaking from head to toe, and washed the mess down the sink. Then she turned to face Blaise.

He still wore that oddly blank expression. "I guess you didn't know I was here."

"Know you were here?" The words came out in a horse whisper; Ginny didn't think she could manage anything else. "I didn't know you were…_alive_. You're alive?" She tried to laugh but couldn't quite manage it; instead, a sort of strangled sound escaped her lips.

"Clearly."

Dimly, she registered an oddly disconnected feeling—annoyance. Annoyance at him, for acting so nonchalant about all this. She had scarcely taken her eyes off him from the moment she'd walked in, but suddenly, she didn't want to see him anymore. It was like staring into a bright light—painful, blinding. And the more she looked at him, as they exchanged words, the more real it became. The stone slab pressed down on her further, crushing her into ground.

Still shaking, Ginny took a step back—nearly stumbling—and sank onto the stool behind her. She put her head into her hands, but it wasn't enough; she was shaking so badly that even holding her head up seemed too hard. She bent down further, resting her cheek against her knees.

"Ginny."

Ginny flinched violently, hearing him say her name. It was like a cold dagger slicing through her, bringing with it an onslaught of memories, of her time with him, that year at Hogwarts. Repressing a whimper, she reached her arms up over her head and grasped her neck.

"If you didn't know I was here, then what are you doing here?"

"What is wrong with you?" Ginny whispered, not moving an inch.

"What?"

"What am I doing here?" Now, Ginny lifted her head, and stared at Blaise incredulously. "What am I _doing_ here?" What _was_she doing here? She couldn't even remember, why she had come.

A flicker of impatience crossed Blaise's face. "Look, I need to know if anyone else knows I'm here."

Suddenly, Ginny lurched to her feet. Her shaking had stopped; she felt quite steady now. Anger was fueling her, bringing her clarity, a sense of stability.

"No, no one knows you're here!" she shouted. "No one _I_ know even knows you're alive! You've been _dead_, Blaise, or didn't you know? For years—for _eight_ years—" A breathless noise of disbelief escaped Ginny's lips. "Only I didn't know. Not that whole time. I looked for you, I _looked_for you, I told everyone you were alive, and people thought I was crazy, I lost my job, my family didn't understand—"

Blaise looked positively alarmed now. He took a step back from her.

"It wasn't until three years ago, Bellatrix Lestrange, she told me you were dead, that she'd tortured you, and killed you, she said they'd tortured you for _days_—"

"Well, at least that bit wasn't a lie," Blaise cut in.

"—and—what?" Ginny broke off.

Blaise met her gaze directly. "Bellatrix," he said very slowly. "Torturing me. For days." The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic imitation of a smile. "Well, months would be more accurate."

Ginny shook her head. "By why? For _months?_And where have you been, all this time?"

Blaise shrugged. "In hiding, of course. When the Death Eaters are after you, you go to ground. And I had my mum to look after," he added, as Ginny opened her mouth to speak again, forestalling her. "She had to go into hiding with me, too."

"But—for what?" Now that her ability to think was coming back to her, none of this was making any logical sense. "Why would the Death Eaters try to come after you? Why not just kill you? I thought they took you to prove a point, to punish you? Because we were in Hogsmeade together that day—"

Blaise laughed, though there was no mirth in it. "If that's all it was about, they would've killed me on the spot, Ginny." He shrugged again, dropping his eyes, avoiding her gaze. "No, they were trying to use me to get to my mum. They thought she knew something, about—I don't even know. Even once we were free, she wouldn't tell me. Didn't want to put me in anymore danger."

A horrible thought suddenly struck Ginny like lightning. "Where's—where's your mum now?"

"Dead," Blaise said flatly. "They found us. Killed her. I got away."

Ginny shook her head, amazed at the indifference in his words. She knew it was a front, a mask. She knew she should say something, say how sorry she was, but she couldn't find the words. It was all too much. She stepped away, reaching a hand out to the cabinets behind her, to steady herself. She thought she might be sick again. No, this time, she thought she might pass out. There was something clawing inside her, something fighting to be free, and it was a moment before Ginny recognized it for what it was.

"So…then…" She blinked, looking up at Blaise. "It wasn't because of me. Them taking you…that didn't happen because of me."

Blaise stared at her for a moment. His expression was utterly unreadable. Maybe he thought

her insensitive, selfish, that he had just told her his mother was dead and that he'd been condemned to such a terrible existence these past eight years, and here she was, thinking only of what this meant for herself. But she couldn't help it. The enormity of it, of what this would mean for her, was too big to ignore.

"No," he finally said. If he was upset, he didn't show it. "No, it had nothing to do with you."

There was something horrible about it—she knew it was horrible—but a huge wave of relief swept Ginny. The crushing stone that had pressed down upon her was gone. And she realized—and it was terrible, but so illuminating—she realized, that all this time, so much of her grief for Blaise's death had been nothing but guilt. Nothing but the awful idea that she had been responsible, that her carelessness, had caused this.

It wasn't that she didn't care about Blaise. She did, she had. But she saw now, why everyone had thought it strange, that she had dated him for a few months, as a teenager—and, if she was honest with herself, as mostly a distraction, really, from Harry—and yet had been so wrecked when he'd gone, when he'd supposedly died. That she had let it consume her, take the joy from her life, drive her every decision for five years. It had been guilt.

This joyous sense of freedom, this relief, this knowledge, lasted for about thirty seconds. Then the weak, sick feeling returned. She looked at Blaise. His head was tilted, watching her. He looked a little puzzled. He was probably wondering what was going through her head.

She took a deep, shaky breath, and ran a hand through her hair. "I looked for you," she said unsteadily. "For five years."

"Yes, you said." Blaise frowned a little, and crossed his arms over his chest. "And then you stopped looking, did you?"

"Bellatrix—" Ginny shook her head. "Like I said, she told me you were dead—"

"And where did you run into Bellatrix?" Blaise said flatly. "That you were able to have this little chat?"

Ginny frowned at his tone. "In France, actually. She'd come after me there, with other Death Eaters, because—because…"

She trailed off. She felt her face growing hot, and for a moment, wasn't sure why. Then, with a sinking feeling, she realized.

Draco.

"Because why?" Blaise demanded harshly. He wore a scowl on his face now. Ginny looked at him, wondering at his change in attitude. It was almost as though he knew—but how…?

A horrible thought struck Ginny.

"Does Draco know you're here?" she demanded.

Blaise recoiled as if she'd slapped him. He didn't answer right away. Then, "No," he said shortly. "He doesn't." He turned away from her, so that she could only see his profile. He was still scowling, at the wall now, his expression ugly.

"Then how did you get in here?" she asked, suspicious. "I would think only the Malfoys know—"

"And I was held captive by a Malfoy, remember? Lucius was there," Blaise said bitterly. "I heard things, all right?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "So it was you. The breach here, did you do a spell, or something? Because I was at the Ministry and they told me, that something had set off an alarm—"

"They told you that, did they?" Blaise asked evenly. He still wasn't looking at her. "Well, I guess they would. You being Draco Malfoy's lover and all."

Ginny flinched. She stared at him, an odd mixture of feelings trickling through her. Anger, pain, even a little shame, which only made her more angry. She had nothing to be ashamed about. She knew very well how she had ended up where she was, what choices had led her here. It was just that Blaise didn't know it, any of it, and she couldn't possibly see how she could make him understand.

When she spoke, her response was oddly devoid of anger. "His wife, actually," she said, very calmly.

Blaise jerked around to stare at her. "_What?_" he snarled.

"Draco and I got married." Ginny swallowed. "Only a few days ago." It felt like a lifetime. Everything that had happened before now, before she'd seen Blaise here, alive, felt like a lifetime ago.

For a moment, Blaise only stared at her, the ugly scowl frozen on his face. Then he snorted, and turned away again. "Figures," he muttered. "Made it official, did you? Your nice, happy little Malfoy family."

"How do you even know about any of this, anyway?" Ginny demanded. "About Malfoy, about my—_family_."

"You still hear things when you're in hiding, Ginny." Blaise folded his arms across his chest. The light from the tallow candles cast shadows across his face. "You hear a lot, actually. I know all about you and Draco. I know about your…son, Will."

"He's not actually my son," Ginny said quietly. "Not biologically."

"I know that, too," he said bitterly.

Ginny looked at him sharply, tilting her head. He was clearly unhappy about her and Draco, about her family, her marriage. She had assumed that any feelings he'd had for her were long gone, as hers were for him, but maybe… "Are you…jealous?" she asked. She wasn't quite able to keep a note of incredulity out of her voice.

Blaise whirled around. "No," he snapped. "Of _Malfoy_, you mean? What, because he has _you?_"

Ginny flinched. "Well, you just seem so…angry, about…something—"

"I am angry," Blaise said, and he very much looked it. His eyes were dark with anger, his mouth set in a thin line. He breathed shallowly through his nostrils. "About Malfoy. I'm angry that he's had such a nice little life, these past few years. That he has a good job, that he's lived comfortably, that he's _safe_, and that he _does_ have his little, loving family, a son, and a _wife_ who's actually more than just some ornament on his arm," Blaise seethed. "While in the meantime, _I've_ suffered, at the hands of _his_family, his aunt, his father—" He broke off suddenly. He took a step back, his expression closing off. Ginny thought he regretted saying so much. He had always been one to keep things in, Blaise, even more so than Draco.

"I guess you could say I am jealous of Malfoy," he said a moment later, his voice much more controlled, devoid of emotion. "But don't kid yourself, _Weasley_. It really doesn't have anything to do with you."

But he didn't look at her as he said it. Ginny watched him for a moment, and found herself drained of all anger. She was still too shell-shocked for anger, and hearing what Blaise had been through, seeing him like this, made it difficult to hold him to blame for her own grief and guilt.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. She should have said it before, earlier, immediately. "About your mum. And that…all this has happened to you. I know that doesn't really mean anything, but…" She trailed off, looking at him steadily.

He chanced a glance at her. He didn't say anything, but he shrugged, which she took as an acknowledgement of her words, if nothing else.

"Anyway." Ginny blew out a huge breath, and looked around the warmly-lit kitchen. "What will you do now? You can't hide out here forever."

"It does for now," Blaise said grimly.

Ginny shook her head. "But…wouldn't it be better to go abroad, maybe? The Death Eaters—"

"A good lot of them are abroad somewhere in the world, Weasley," Blaise said dismissively. "I'm as safe here as anywhere else."

Ginny wasn't sure what to say. She nearly offered help from the Order, but she knew he would spurn it. It had always been his play to stay as neutral as possible, as self-reliant as possible, and she knew, even now, even after what the Death Eaters had done to him, that he would stick to that view. She sighed, running a hand over her forehead.

"I should go," she said abruptly. She had no idea what time it was, but it had to be getting late, and it had taken her a while to get through that tunnel. Draco would be getting home from work soon, and she should have picked Will up from Shell Cottage hours ago.

Blaise looked for a moment like he wanted to say something—a scowl passed over his face—but then, with a bitter twist of his mouth, he only shrugged and said, "Well. Obviously I don't have to tell you—"

"I won't tell anyone," Ginny said quietly. "That you're here. That you're alive. But," she said, struck by an inspiration, "I could come back, if you like. Bring you any news…food. Or, well…if you want, I mean."

She knew immediately that it was a bad idea. That it would be better, for her, and for him, for everyone, if she just forgot that Blaise was here, forgot that she'd ever seen him. But for a moment—just a quick look—a fleeting hope passed through Blaise's eyes. There and gone so fast, she might've imagined it. But when he shrugged again, and said, with perfect indifference, "If you like," she knew she had not imagined it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I meant to explain this in this chapter – and I probably will next chapter – how it was that Ginny did magic in the kitchen without alerting the Ministry (she took the Disillusionment Charm off herself). But I couldn't find any natural way of working it into the conversation between her and Blaise, so I'll explain here. First of all, Ginny probably wasn't really thinking when she herself did it. But the reason it didn't set off any alarms is because Hermione set up a sort of anti-detection charm, just in the kitchen, to counter the spells the Ministry put up—so that she and Blaise could do magic, just in the kitchen. That's why the alarm was set up in the first place. But when the Aurors turned up, she and Blaise hid. As for where Hermione was when Ginny ran into Blaise in the kitchen, the explanation is simple; she was elsewhere, outside the manor.


	7. Chapter Six

**Author Notes:** I have the next couple of chapters written already – they just need to be proofread and posted, so hopefully, there won't be too much of a wait between chapters.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_May 2006_

"_Pucey?_" Blaise wrinkled his nose. "Tracey is dating Adrian Pucey?"

Ginny bit into a ginger biscuit and nodded. "For years now, actually. And I wouldn't have told you," she said, shooting him a warning look, "except that Adrian will probably get the clear to come out of hiding, soon. Tracey's been working on that, anyway."

Blaise chewed the bread he was eating and swallowed. He waved an indifferent hand. "I knew he was in hiding," he said. "I'd heard some Death Eaters talking about it."

There was something odd about that statement, but it barely registered to Ginny, and she brushed the stray thought away and said, "Well, he'll be happy about it, anyway. To get out of hiding. I don't think he's seen much of the outside world in the past four years."

"But Tracey is so smart," Blaise mused. He didn't seem to have heard her last comment. "So…above him. Pucey's just a low-life thug—"

"He is not," Ginny said, amused. "I mean, all right, he sort of came off that way in school, but he's really not. He's very quiet—"

"Sure, because he's too thick to string a whole sentence together—"

"That's not true either!" Ginny protested, but she couldn't hold back a chuckle. "He's no Goyle. I meant that he's…introspective. I suspect," she said lightly, popping the last of her biscuit into her mouth, "that there are hidden depths to Adrian Pucey which neither of us is aware of."

Blaise snorted. "Not likely."

Nearly a month had passed since Ginny's marriage to Draco, since Ginny had first discovered Blaise alive in Malfoy Manor. And since then, Ginny had snuck by to visit Blaise a couple of times. The first time, she'd only brought him some food and a few copies of the _Daily Prophet_, and they hadn't talked much, neither of them. Blaise had still behaved very coldly towards her, and she hadn't stayed very long at all. But they'd had something more like a normal conversation the next time she'd come by, as the awkwardness and iciness between them melted away.

They were currently sitting in the kitchen—apparently, Blaise did not consider it wise to venture out into other parts of the manor, and besides, he'd told her, the spell that had set off the Ministry alarms last month, was a spell he'd done to counter the Ministry's detection charms. It only covered the kitchen, but it meant that he could do magic there, if he needed to.

"Anyway," Ginny said, "I can't think of what else there might be to catch you up on. Who else were you friends with? Oh, right—" She nodded, remembering. "Daphne Greengrass. Didn't you date her for a bit?"

"Not really," Blaise said indifferently. "We went to the Yule Ball together. She was the easiest to stand of all Pansy's little friends, because she was far cleverer than she pretended to be."

"Well, I suppose you know she's been missing for years," Ginny told him. "Since Hogsmeade actually, like you. I would say she's probably dead, but then…" She tossed him a quick smile. "You aren't."

"She was always a survivor," Blaise said, leaning back on his stool to stretch his legs out in front of him, "but if there was some reason she needed to go into hiding, I don't know it. She was never involved in either side of the war, really. And her family hasn't been touched, have they?"

"Not that I know of," Ginny admitted. "Anyway…what else? I suppose you've heard Theodore Nott turned out to be a Death Eater, and a total nutter besides."

"Didn't need to hear it," Blaise said darkly. "I've seen him."

"That's right," Ginny said slowly. "Malfoy said he'd been a Death Eater since before the attack on Hogsmeade, so he would've been around when you were…" She trailed off, frowning. She suddenly realized why Blaise's comment about Adrian Pucey had seemed off before. "Hang on," she said, looking up at him. "You said you'd heard from Death Eaters that Adrian was in hiding?"

Blaise nodded.

"But…" She racked her brain, trying to remember what he had told her about the past eight years of his life. "You said the Death Eaters took you at Hogsmeade. And then you escaped and went into hiding."

Blaise nodded again, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"But then, how did you hear about Adrian from Death Eaters? He spied on them for three years, _after_ the battle of Hogsmeade. And then he was caught, and went into hiding. Were you—I mean, I didn't think you'd been held by them _that_long—"

"I wasn't," Blaise said shortly. "Then." His expression had closed off, the way it did when they verged in on something he didn't want to talk about. "It was two years ago, nearly. I told you they caught up to us and killed my mother, remember?"

Ginny nodded solemnly. "Yes, but—you said you got away—"

Blaise looked aside, evading her gaze. "Yeah, well. Only recently. Not six months ago."

Ginny went cold. She thought all the blood must have drained from her face. "But then…they've had you all this time? These past two _years?_"

Blaise shrugged, still not looking at her. His jaw had gone tense. "Approximately."

Ginny swallowed. She couldn't imagine being held captive that long, by the Death Eaters, and being tortured for information he didn't even know. She wondered that he'd even been kept alive so long.

"Anyway," Blaise said lightly, shrugging uncomfortably, "the Death Eaters I heard talking about him are in Azkaban now, from what I know. So you can tell Pucey he should be free and well to come out of hiding."

"Well, that's good to know," Ginny said, forcing a smile as they moved past the topic of Blaise's capture. "Anyhow, who else from Hogwarts do you want to know about? Have I missed anyone? I don't remember you hanging out with Pansy much, and anyway, she's pretty much exactly the same as she was back in—"

"You haven't mentioned Carina," Blaise said quietly, "I've noticed."

Ginny froze. A little shock coursed through her, and she stared at him, not sure what to say, or how to feel. "But…you must know that she's dead," Ginny said, nearly stumbling over that last word. "Only, you said you know about Will—"

"I know she's dead," Blaise said. "I just wondered how she'd been, since Hogsmeade." Blaise glanced up, but he stared at a point over Ginny's head, looking lost in thought. "Her, I did date."

"You did?" Ginny looked at him sharply. "I never knew that."

Blaise shrugged. "We were both very private people. I'd wanted to take her to the Yule Ball, but someone else asked her before I could. But we started going out later that year. She went with me to Slughorn's party, sixth year."

"But…" Ginny frowned. "You mean you dated her for—what?—two years?"

"We broke up over the summer, before seventh year." Blaise shrugged, and looked at Ginny. He looked faintly amused. "I don't know why you're so surprised, Weasley."

"Well, you never said!" Ginny said defensively. "And—and Carina and I were friends, and she never said…and you knew I was friends with her, and neither of you ever said, when we were dating that year!"

"Like I said, we were private people," Blaise repeated. "We never really advertised our relationship. Anyway, she broke up with me, she was done with me. When her Muggleborn friend died, Brocklehurst. She wanted to take a stance—that's why she joined your little defense group, after all. But I never agreed with that view, so she had done with me."

Ginny shook her head. She felt, irrationally, a little…betrayed. She had never known, and from the sound of it, it had been a fairly serious relationship. It almost would have to be, to have gone on for more than two years. And yet no one had ever said….

But then, was she really offended, or was it just easier to feel that way? Because really, Ginny thought, this made their current situation even stranger…that Blaise had dated Carina for so long, loved her, probably, and she'd ended up having Draco's baby, a baby that Ginny was now raising as her own son.

"Anyway," Blaise said, and though his tone was would-be casual, Ginny thought he sounded a little strained, "what happened to her, after Hogwarts? Only, she never cared much for Draco in school, and I have to say, I find it entirely too weird that she ended up dating him."

Ginny only looked at him for a moment, wondering how much to say. Then, abruptly, she said, "She never really liked him. She was only spying on him, you see. The baby was an accident."

Blaise didn't move, but his eyebrow hitched, and his dark eyes flashed. "She was spying on him?"

"Yes," Ginny whispered, looking down at her hands. "For—for the Order. She was in it."

Silence met her words. When she dared look up again, anger was clear on Blaise's face, etched into every part of him. "She was in the _Order?_Oh, but of course—" He gave a harsh laugh "—I suppose that was a natural next step, after your little group at Hogwarts, wasn't it? And so your little Order had no problem telling her to sleep with him for information—"

"Don't be stupid," Ginny said, flushing. "No one ordered her to sleep with anyone, she just had to get close to him—"

"Yeah, well, Carina always was a perfectionist," Blaise snapped. "That was her mum's influence, you know. She put so much pressure on her, I always thought she was going to break from it. To be perfect, get perfect marks, have perfect friends. So it's not surprising she'd feel like she'd need to go all the way, to get _close_to Malfoy—"

"Don't!" Ginny shot back at him. "Don't talk like that about her! Look, I don't know w-why she—I have no idea what was going through her head, or anything, really, about her relationship with Draco. For all I know, she actually came to like him."

"Like you did," Blaise said bitterly.

Ginny's head snapped up, and she glared at him. "He has changed, you know."

"Please." Blaise held up a hand to stop her. "I don't need a lecture on Malfoy's good qualities." His mouth twisted in a grimace.

"Anyway, it wasn't—it was never about him, for me. At first, I mean," she said quietly. "It was about Carina, actually. And her son. I always felt…" Ginny swallowed. "I felt like we owed it to him. To look after him. Because she _had_ been working for the Order. So when Draco needed help, with him, when he needed protection, for _him_, I couldn't—" She took a deep breath. "I had to help." She shrugged a shoulder, smiling a little. "And I fell in love with him."

Blaise snorted. "With Draco?"

"With Will," Ginny snapped. "I'm not going to talk about my relationship with Draco to you. It's none of your business."

"So there _is_a relationship?"

Ginny ignored him. "Anyway, for a long time I was just looking after him…Will, I mean. Draco had hired me. But then, well, he was kidnapped, and it was horrible, and I realized…I realized he was mine. For all that it mattered."

"Yes," Blaise said evenly. "I remember."

Ginny frowned, looking up at him. "Remember what?"

Blaise only looked at her. She couldn't decipher the look in his eyes, whether it was thoughtful or malicious or sad. "When Will was kidnapped," he said abruptly. "They took him to the Riddle House."

"Yes," Ginny said, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I was there, Weasley." Blaise spoke very deliberately, his eyes locked on her. "At the Riddle House. They were holding me there." He sighed. "I remember when they had Will there, and you. In all the to-do, I nearly escaped. I got out of my room, anyway. For a bit."

Ginny stared at him. Something stirred uneasily in the pit of her stomach, as his words sunk in. "Are you saying—" She broke off, her voice going hoarse. She cleared her throat and went on. "Someone unlocked the door to the room they held me in. Someone masked like a Death Eater…"

Blaise only continued to look at her, unflinching.

Ginny drew in a sharp breath. "It was _you?_"

"I'd taken a dark robe and mask off another Death Eater to blend in," Blaise said, sitting up straight. "And I'd heard where you were being kept. But when I got in the room, no one was there—"

"I hid," Ginny said faintly. "I looked out and only saw a Death Eater, so I hid."

"Well, I might've looked, but I didn't have time," Blaise told her. "I still wanted to get out myself. So I took off—"

"And you got Will," Ginny said swiftly. "Didn't you? You were the one who had him, and handed him over to me. But then, before you could get out—"

"Your stupid husband Stunned me," Blaise groused. He slumped back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest with a scowl.

Ginny shook her head. "But would you have said anything? Taken off your mask? Showed me it was you?" For some reason, Ginny was desperate to know the answer to this.

Blaise shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I was thinking about it. What does it matter, though?" The dark, haunted look returned to his eyes, and he suddenly seemed very old to Ginny, too old. "It wouldn't have changed anything, would it."

* * *

It had been decided, after all, that there would be a party, even though the news of Draco's marriage to Ginny had spread pretty quickly on its own, after Ginny had told her parents and the twins. Draco had been hopeful that they'd gotten out of this without any big to-do.

Unfortunately, Ginny's mother, and some of her friends, had continued to push for a party. Draco and Ginny had managed to put it off for a near month. Now, at the end of May, they intended to use the party as part wedding celebration, part birthday celebration for both Will and Draco, whose birthdays were both in the next couple of weeks. Draco's hope now was that the birthdays would throw some of the attention off the marriage. Unfortunately, he thought glumly, there wasn't much chance of that happening.

The party was going to be at the townhouse, and there were far too many people coming, so far as Draco was concerned. Usually, he liked big parties, especially ones that revolved around him. But some of the guests in attendance would be Ginny's family, most of the Order, and other friends of Ginny, who Draco neither knew very well or liked. On his end, the only people coming were Pansy, Pucey, and Davis, and Davis he could only barely include as a friend of his. If it wasn't Ginny he had married, she wouldn't be coming at all.

The party was held throughout the townhouse, and even extended out into the back terrace and garden, since the weather was nice. The large terrace lined the entire back of the wide townhouse and provided some shade, up to the expanse of grass that was the garden, which was as wide as the house but didn't run back very deep. The conservatory, which backed up against the kitchen, ran along the right side of the garden, as it sat on the corner of the street. The doors of the conservatory—which was set up as a tearoom—were flung wide open, so that guests could flitter in and out. The same was done with the back doors, which led from the terrace outside into the large sitting room inside.

On the left side of the sitting room was the library, and those doors had been pulled open wide too, so that guests could wander in at their will. The party was, after all, an excuse to show off the new house, as well as both a wedding and dual birthday celebration. From the sitting room, guests could pass through the open doors into the entrance hall, and through there, into the long dining room on the right. Guests could even go up to the first floor and gather in the large parlor up there, which boasted a small balcony that hung over the back terrace. The rest of the floors were off-limits, as was the study, in the front left of the house on the ground floor.

Given that so few people were fans of Draco and Ginny's relationship, there was a surprisingly large amount of people that turned up to the party. Draco supposed curiosity was responsible for some of that, and that others—mostly Ginny's friends—turned up out of friendship and support for her.

Whatever the reasons, Draco knew he was going to be the odd one out at the party, and had resolved to stick with Ginny through the whole thing. Unfortunately, that plan failed when he spotted Hagrid coming in to greet Ginny in the dining room, and Draco quickly ducked into the kitchen to avoid the big oaf. He was completely alone in the kitchen—there wasn't even a house-elf in there—and Draco contemplated the blissful idea of staying in the kitchen for the duration of the party. But he was sure to be missed after a while, so, glumly, Draco left the kitchen.

He wasn't going to go back out into the dining room, not if Hagrid was still there, so he took the only course left to him and took the back door out of the kitchen, into the conservatory. He edged around the large table which held all the wedding, house-warming, and birthday gifts and peered around the room surreptitiously. Several small tables had been set up about a round table in the center, which held grand silver platters with little tea sandwiches, crumpets, biscuits, and scones, and two large carafes with coffee and hot water for tea. There weren't very many people in the room, and none that Draco recognized, although a few people were eyeing him pointedly.

He had just stepped up to the tea table, deciding it might be a good idea to just have a cup of tea and a biscuit in the corner, when someone he had not seen emerged from one of the tea tables and came up to him. To Draco's horror, it was his old Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall.

"Hello, Draco," she said dryly.

Draco suppressed a grimace and said, as politely as he could manage, "Hello, Professor." He had never liked McGonagall at school—she was a strict teacher—and, what was worse was, the last time he had really come face to face with her was at the end of sixth year, when he'd let the Death Eaters into the school and she had fought against them. He had caught a glimpse of her once at an Order meeting, but that was it.

"Well," she said, "I suppose congratulations are in order." Her mouth was set in a thin line of disapproval, but since he had never seen any other expression on her face, he couldn't be sure if this had anything to do with his marriage to Ginny or not.

"Thank you," he said, wishing he had gotten the words out a little more smoothly.

"And I understand it is your son's birthday." She peered over the edge of her spectacles into the garden outside, perhaps looking for Will, though he'd been with Ginny when Draco had left the dining room. "How old is he?"

"Three," Draco said. "Well, technically it isn't his birthday for another two weeks, but he will be three."

"He'll be going to Hogwarts, of course?" she said sharply.

"Of—of course." Merlin, he was eight years away from that, and where else would he go?

"Well, then I shall look forward to teaching him," she said with a raised eyebrow.

After that, she left out into the garden, much to Draco's relief. He supposed that could have gone worse. He paused at the conservatory doors and looked out into the garden briefly. He saw that Will _was_there, running around in the grass with Victoire and James. Diana was watching all three of them as she chatted to a couple of young women who Draco thought he recognized from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team when he'd been at school.

Several of the Weasleys were outside—he counted at least four redheads—so he bypassed the garden and slipped through the kitchen again. He was relieved to see that Hagrid had disappeared from the dining room, but he didn't see Ginny anywhere, either. A long table packed with food—roast chicken, tureens of soup, sautéed vegetables, warm rolls, gravy and sauce, not to mention a large bowl of pumpkin juice—took up most of the room, and it had gotten quite crowded, so Draco squeezed out into the entrance hall.

He headed up the grand staircase into the parlor on the first floor. There were people out on the balcony, but only a few small groups of people in the room itself. He was momentarily glad to spot Pansy sitting over on the divan, but then he realized she was happily chatting away with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, both of whom had been in Draco's year at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor House. He grappled with this strange sight for a moment—Pansy had been childhood friends with Patil, he knew, but they had hated each other at Hogwarts—and hesitated, wondering if he should chance joining them.

He had just decided to go for it—he couldn't remember ever _personally_being mean to either Brown or Patil at school—but he had only taken two steps when he found his way blocked by two blokes who had just come in from the balcony—Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, two more Gryffindors from his year.

"Hello, Malfoy," Finnigan said. Judging by the look on his face, he was spoiling for a fight, but then, from what Draco could remember of Finnigan in school, that didn't surprise him.

"Hullo," Draco said calmly. Years of living with Ginny and putting up with her family had taught him to at least be civil to people he didn't like, so he managed to keep the sneer off his face. Several different insults sprang to mind, but he suppressed those, too.

"We were wondering if we would run into you here," Finnigan said, speaking in the same brash, cheeky tone of voice.

"Well, it would be likely," Draco drawled, "given that it's my house and my party."

"What're you lurking around up here for, then?" Finnigan countered.

"I'm not lurking," Draco said curtly. He glanced aside at Dean Thomas, who looked torn between amusement and embarrassment. "I was coming to say hello to Pansy," Draco said, nodding towards the gaggle of women, all three of whom were looking at them, "and her, er—friends."

"Seen Ginny about, Malfoy?' Thomas asked, cutting in before Finnigan could say something else.

"No," Draco said. "I mean, she was in the dining room a while ago, but I don't know where she is now."

Thomas nodded and looked like he was going to draw Finnigan away—to look for Ginny, maybe—but Finnigan said loudly, "And the dining room is where, exactly? Only it's a big house, isn't it?'

"Well, I can understand if you think so," Draco snapped. "Bigger than any house you've lived in, I suppose. As it happens, this house isn't even as big as our manor—"

"Brighter, though," Thomas said quietly.

"What?" Draco growled. The sneer he had struggled to suppress was spreading over his face now.

"This house," Dean Thomas said. "It's much brighter than your old manor."

Draco stared at him. He could not ever remember a time in which Dean Thomas had been in Malfoy Manor…had Ginny perhaps had him over once? Given that Thomas was an ex-boyfriend of Ginny's, the thought made his blood boil, and he opened his mouth to say something about it, but Thomas got there first.

"If you're wondering when I've been there," Thomas said, meeting Draco's gaze boldly, "it was eight years ago—you know, when Voldemort had control of the Ministry. A pack of Snatchers caught me and took me to your manor. I was held prisoner there in the cellar."

Draco froze. He suddenly felt awkward beyond belief. He hoped to Merlin he wasn't flushing. Thomas and Finnigan just looked at him, probably pleased at how uncomfortable they'd made him. What was he supposed to say to that? Was he supposed to apologize? He hadn't even been there, he'd been in hiding that entire year.

He was saved coming up with a response when Pansy suddenly called from across the room, "Draco! Come over here a moment, Parvati was just asking about this vase—isn't it from Spain?"

Deeply grateful to Pansy, Draco spared a jerky nod for Finnigan and Thomas and hurried over to the women. He doubted Parvati had asked after any vase at all, but he eagerly seized on the excuse to get away.

After chatting politely with Pansy, Brown, and Patil, Draco escaped downstairs. He went through the entrance hall into the vast sitting room, where a number of guests lingered, sitting in chairs or congregating around the two crudité tables, which held platters of raw vegetables, as well as a salad bowl and some cutting boards with bread and cheese. Draco had just filled a small plate with some carrots and gruyere when he spotted the Weasley twins coming in from outside. He nearly crashed into a middle-aged witch in his haste to retreat into the library, on the left. The library was not a large room, and its doors stood open to the sitting room, but he managed to squeeze himself into a corner where, he hoped, he could not be seen.

Peering out into the sitting room, however, Draco realized that Ginny was with the twins. They also stopped at the crudité table, near the library doors, close enough that he could hear what they were saying.

"…just trying to find something to be mean about, George," Ginny was saying. She sounded slightly annoyed, but she wore a pleasant enough expression that Draco didn't think she was too put off. "You know perfectly well you would have hated another big wedding."

"My wedding wasn't that big," George protested. "Nor nearly as long and boring as Bill's."

"Yes, it was," Ginny said defensively. "And Mum was just as horrid, too. You just didn't notice because you were drooling over Diana the whole time. Just ask Fred, he agrees with me, don't you, Fred?"

Fred coughed noncommittally, and George shot him a suspicious look.

"You just want something else to complain about Draco," Ginny said. "Which is pointless, anyway, because eloping was all my idea."

"It was?" George sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yes," Ginny said. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, it's just—" Fred frowned "—girls are usually so silly about weddings."

Draco couldn't see Ginny's face now, but she must have sent them a dangerous look, because George quickly said, "You know, I think I'll go see what there's to eat in the dining room."

"Yeah, me too," Fred hastily agreed, and the two of them departed, much to Draco's relief.

He stepped out into the doorway, and when Ginny turned from the table, she saw him. "There you are," she said, coming to join him in the alcove the library provided. "Will's out in the garden with Diana, I've just seen him—what have you been doing?" she asked, sounding a little suspicious.

"Oh, you know," Draco said lightly. He glanced back and seated himself in one of the comfortable armchairs in the library. "Chatting with some old friends."

Now, Ginny looked deeply suspicious. "Like who?"

"Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, and Sean Finnigan," Draco said casually.

"Seamus Finnigan," Ginny corrected him.

"Whatever."

"What on earth can you have had to talk about with them?' Ginny said bluntly.

"Erm—Quidditch."

"Quidditch," Ginny repeated. She raised an eyebrow, but apparently found this answer acceptable. Draco supposed Quidditch could be a sort of safe, unifying subject, no matter who a person was talking to.

"Well, overall, I suppose this party hasn't been so bad," Ginny confessed. "I think our plan worked, most people have been gushing to me about the house or Will, they haven't mentioned you much."

"Which is sort of disappointing," Draco said glumly, "when you consider that my birthday is sooner than Will's."

"Oh, shut up," Ginny said absently, glancing to her right. Then she groaned. "Oh, no, oh, no, look who it is."

"Who?" Draco craned his neck to look toward the entrance hall, but he didn't get up, and he couldn't really see anyone from his vantage point in the chair.

"My Great-Aunt Muriel," Ginny said miserably. "And I think she's seen us, so it's no good ducking out of here. Look, just…whatever she says to you, just don't be offended, all right?"

"Why?" Draco asked, a little alarmed. "What would she—"

"Put it this way," Ginny said grimly. "I met her in the entrance hall when she got here, and the first thing she said to me was to ask if we'd eloped because I was pregnant."

Draco winced.

A second later, an elderly woman with a cane came across the sitting room, and stumped right up to Ginny and Draco, coming through the library doors. She wore a pink feather hat and had a nose like a great bird.

"There you are, Ginevra," the old woman groused. "Not hiding back here, are you, that's no way to be at your own wedding party. You should be talking with your guests. Budge up, there!" she barked at Draco, who jumped out of his chair as though it had been lit on fire. "I'm a hundred and fifteen, boy, I need to sit down."

Draco hastily stepped in beside Ginny. He was about to offer his hand and summon up his most polite, well-mannered introduction, but he didn't get the chance, because Muriel squinted at him and said, "So! This is him then, is it, Ginevra?"

"This is Draco, yes," Ginny said. She had an odd, frozen smile plastered on her face.

"Well, it's clear you're from a fine aristocratic family," Muriel said, looking him up and down pointedly. Draco would have taken this as a compliment if she had not been scrutinizing him so bluntly. "The Malfoys, isn't it?'

"Yes," Draco said nervously. These days, when people brought up his family, they didn't usually have anything nice to say.

"An old family, yes," Muriel said loudly, and Draco was just beginning to think she _was_complimenting him when she went on to say, "Of course, the Malfoys always thought very highly of themselves, too good for most company! Your great-grandfather was at school with me, you know, several years under me…a spoilt boy, he was always going around with his nose in the air, bullying anyone smaller than him."

Draco felt his smile slip. It didn't help when Ginny snorted in a clear attempt to disguise a laugh.

"Where's the birthday boy, then?" Muriel barked at Draco. "You have a son, don't you? Who's his mother, then?"

"Carina Moon, Aunt Muriel," Ginny answered for him, "but she died in childbirth."

"Moon, did you say? I suppose you know Lillian Moon, then? Is she here?"

"No," Draco said stiffly. "She wasn't invited."

"Good for you," Muriel said, taking Draco by surprise. "She's a piece of work, Lillian."

Unfortunately, Muriel's words turned out to be something of a premonition.

Muriel soon spotted Bill going by and took him to task for his hair being so long, and Draco and Ginny took the opportunity to slip away from her. At the door to the terrace, they ran into Neville Longbottom and another friend of Ginny's from school—the Lovegood girl.

"Hullo, Ginny," the girl said, with a sort of vacant expression on her face. Draco stared at her; she was wearing a bright yellow dress that hurt his eyes to look at. Then he caught Longbottom glaring at him and he returned the look with interest.

"Luna!" Ginny seemed genuinely happy to see her. "I haven't seen you in ages, when did you get back? Luna," Ginny said, turning to address Draco, "has been out traveling the world for the past couple of years!"

Draco nodded mechanically, as though this actually interested him. Not fooled, Ginny rolled her eyes at him and turned back to Luna.

"Oh, I'm just stopping in, really," Lovegood said dreamily. "I'm still on the hunt for a Crumple-Horned Snorcack, they're really difficult to find, you know! But I'm glad I could be here for your party, Ginny. It's very odd though, isn't it," she said pleasantly. "That you two got married?"

"Why do you say that?" Draco demanded. There were, of course, a million reasons why it was odd that Ginny and Draco had married, but Draco's patience was wearing thin. He'd had enough snide comments about him, Ginny, and his family.

"Well, because you were so mean to her at Hogwarts," Lovegood said, turning her wide eyes on him. Draco was taken aback; she spoke quite plainly, as though she didn't realize what she was saying might offend him. "You were mean to everyone, actually. I remember in fourth year," she said, smiling as though recalling a very pleasant memory, "when you and your friends all had us in Umbridge's office, remember? And Ginny cast that great Bat-Bogey Hex on you, and your whole face was covered in giant bogies!"

Draco stared at her in dismay as she began to laugh at the memory. Longbottom joined in, of course, but he was a bit hurt when Ginny did, too.

"You have to admit," Ginny said, gasping for breath, "that _was_funny."

"Not for me, it wasn't," Draco said grumpily. He left the three of them there, still laughing at him.

Draco had been avoiding the garden because it was packed with people, but he hadn't found refuge anywhere else in the house, so he went out onto the terrace. There was a large table there with two massive cakes. One of them was layered, with white icing; it was a "wedding cake" for Draco and Ginny, which Mrs. Weasley had insisted on. The other was a large chocolate cake, which wished Will and Draco happy birthday in elaborate green icing. Both cakes had already been cut into. Draco trumped over and served himself a piece of the birthday cake.

"Wotcher, Draco."

Draco turned, supremely relieved to see Tonks. But he froze when he saw the woman standing next to her.

She looked so like his Aunt Bellatrix that, for a moment—a split-second—he thought she _was_his Aunt Bellatrix. But then he realized that was ridiculous, and on a second look, he saw there were small differences in their appearances. This woman's hair was a light brown, and she lacked the wild cruelty in Bellatrix's eyes. Still, there was no mistaking who she was, and Draco was not sure if he should be pleased to see her.

Tonks, apparently, saw nothing awkward in the situation. "Draco, this is my mum, Andromeda," she said cheerfully.

"Er—hello," Draco said.

"Hello, Draco," Andromeda said. There was something closed off about her expression, but there was a trace of something like curiosity in her eyes. After looking at him a moment, she offered her hand, which Draco shook.

"Oh, look, Mum, cake," Tonks said enthusiastically. She bounded towards the table, but Andromeda quickly stepped past her.

"I'll cut you a slice, Nymphadora," she said calmly. Draco thought this was a smart move; Tonks and sharp objects couldn't be a good idea.

Andromeda cut a piece of chocolate cake for Tonks, and then a piece of the wedding cake for herself. Tonks, who was usually quite chatty, didn't say anything. She munched happily on her cake, her eyes cutting eagerly between her mother and Draco. Draco wondered what she'd told Andromeda about him.

For a moment, Andromeda didn't say anything either, as she turned to face them with her slice of cake. She only looked at Draco thoughtfully. When she finally spoke, she said diplomatically, "Nymphadora has told me a lot about you, Draco."

At first, Draco wasn't sure how to respond. Then, he heard himself say, "It's a shame we're only just now meeting."

Andromeda looked surprised to hear him say this. For that matter, Draco was surprised to realize he meant it. Because, for all that she had married a Muggleborn—for all that she looked like Bellatrix—she also looked like his mother. Not her coloring, but her eyes—her face—even the way she stood. In fact, the more he looked at her, the less he saw of Bellatrix, and the more he saw of his mum.

Something about that made Draco ache with sadness. Yet he could not stop looking at her.

"Yes," Andromeda—his aunt, Andromeda—said. "It is a shame." She smiled. Draco smiled back tentatively.

"Draco, where's Will at?" Tonks asked suddenly.

"What?" Draco blinked at her. "Oh—he was out in the garden, I think. With Diana."

"I'll just go say hullo, then," Tonks said, and she was off, tripping over one of the terrace steps as she went.

Draco turned his attention back to Andromeda. She was looking him up and down, though she was more discreet about it than Muriel had been. "You look very like him," she said abruptly. "Like your father. Very like him, actually."

Draco swallowed. He wasn't sure, coming from her, that that was a compliment.

But then she smiled again. "But," she said, "you have a bit of Cissy in you, too. In your smile. Of course, Cissy rarely smiled. She was always very concerned with being a proper young lady, and I suppose proper ladies aren't to smile too much."

Draco decided he liked her.

A little while later, after his aunt Andromeda had gone to find Tonks, Draco ran into Charlie Weasley. Feeling that his luck with this party was finally going up, he and Charlie got a couple of cold Butterbeers and went to stand just outside the terrace, in the garden. From here, he could see Will, who was still playing with Victoire and James. Diana was nowhere to be seen, but Bill and Fleur were now watching over the children.

Charlie and Draco were in the midst of a discussion about Quidditch (the Falmouth Falcons were first in the league right now, which Draco was wasting no time bragging about), when they were joined, to Draco's horror, by Fred and George. They were upon them before Draco had seen them, so there was no way for him to escape.

"There you are, Draco, old sport," Fred said, in a voice with much false enthusiasm. "Haven't seen you all afternoon, wot?"

"Draco!" George clapped him on the back so hard he nearly spluttered up his Butterbeer. "Really corking to see you!"

"What're you up to, you two?' Charlie said, looking amused.

"Talking about Quidditch, weren't you?" George said innocently, helping himself to a Butterbeer.

"So what if we were?" Draco scowled.

"Well, we just thought, Draco," Fred said pleasantly, "that seeing as you're family now—"

"—an honorary Weasley, if you will—" George added, grinning viciously.

"—we ought to invite you over to the Burrow to play a spot of Quidditch with us," Fred said. An identical grin had spread over his face. Draco thought he looked a bit manic.

"Sounds like fun," Charlie said. "What do you say, Draco?"

Draco thought that, judging by the devious looks on the twins' faces, they probably had something horrible planned for him. But Charlie was smiling between the three of them, and he couldn't see how he could say no.

"Well," he said, "er—"

"How about," Charlie said, "Draco, Ginny, and me, against you two and Bill?"

So Charlie wasn't as thick as he looked, Draco thought with relief. He allowed himself a bit of a grin, too. "You're on."

Unfortunately, Charlie's addendum hadn't done anything to wipe the smiles off the twins' faces, which made Draco sure that he was still in for something nasty.

"Hello, Draco!"

Draco turned with a sinking feeling. And he'd thought his luck was turning? He now found himself utterly surrounded by Weasleys, as Ginny's mother and father both walked up to join them all. And Ginny was nowhere in sight. He wondered if he could pretend that he thought there was something wrong with Will and run off.

"Hello," Draco said, in a resigned tone, in response to Mrs. Weasley's greeting.

Arthur Weasley grunted something unintelligible, which might have been meant as a hello. His expression was stony, and Draco was momentarily glad that someone else was as miserable at this party as he was.

"We've just been having a chat with Remus and Kingsley in the sitting room," Molly Weasley said, fanning herself a bit. "I must say, this is a _very_nice house, Draco!"

"Mmm," Draco agreed.

"I haven't seen Will," Molly said. "I'll want to wish him a happy birthday! We left his gift over on the table in the tea room. I do hope he likes it."

"I'm sure he will." Then, wanting to show the Weasley men that he could be perfectly courteous and even complimentary, he said, in the most pleasant voice he could muster, "He always enjoys your gifts, very much." He even smiled.

Molly Weasley beamed back at him. For some reason, this made Fred and George glower. Arthur Weasley's expression was halfway between a forced smile and a grimace.

Before anyone could say anything else, a flushed Pansy ran up to them. Draco stared; Pansy had saved him earlier, but he couldn't imagine her braving a crowd of Weasleys to join him now. He saw immediately, however, that she wore a grim expression on her face. "Draco," she said, sounding quite distressed, "you'll never believe who's here." She looked downright worried.

"What do you mean, who?" Draco asked frowning.

"Lillian Moon," Pansy said. She was dancing back and forth on her feet, watching him anxiously.

Draco was sure his face must have drained of all color. "What is _she_doing here?' he asked in a low voice, his tone harsh. "How did she even get in?"

"Well, it's not like an Anti-Intruder Jinx would've kept her out," Pansy pointed out. "That only repels people who mean anyone in the house harm."

"Good to know," Fred muttered to George.

"But the house-elves!" Draco snapped. "They should be checking people!"

"I know, but I haven't seen Tasher, he was by the door earlier," Pansy said. "I don't know where he's gone now."

Before Draco could respond, he caught a glimpse of white hair through the doors into the sitting room, and, as an older man moved aside, he saw her—Lillian Moon. Carina's mother, Will's grandmother, though she had never claimed that particular title. Keeping his eyes on the stately woman as she moved through the sitting room, Draco snapped at Pansy, "Go find Ginny. Now."

Pansy nodded and darted off.

"Lillian Moon," Molly said, once Pansy had gone. She sounded uncertain. "But isn't that…Carina's mother?"

"Yes." Draco cast a sharp glance over his shoulder. Will was still playing under the care of Bill and Fleur some ten yards away. He tried to catch Fleur's eye so he could indicate that she keep Will there with her, but she was talking to Bill and didn't see him.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, still sounding confused, "isn't she Will's grandmother? Why shouldn't she be here?"

"Because the Moons have always followed You-Know-Who," Arthur Weasley said. Draco looked at him; he was watching Draco very astutely. "Though as far as I know, there have never been any actual Death Eaters in their family. I'm sure Draco has kept Will at a distance from her, haven't you, Draco?"

"She's never wanted anything to do with him," Draco said tersely. "She told me he was a mistake and the reason her daughter was dead."

Molly Weasley gasped. "But that's just awful! How could she?"

"I'm sure it was easy for her," Draco said bleakly. His eyes were still on Lillian, as she stepped out onto the terrace. She seemed to spot Draco immediately, and she smiled a very cold smile. Then she started towards him.

"Anyway, I haven't even seen her since I got back from France two and a half years ago," Draco said, distracted. "So it hasn't exactly been difficult to keep him away from her. But even if that wasn't her attitude, I wouldn't have been keen for her to be a part of his life."

"I don't blame you," Arthur said grimly. Draco barely had time to glance at Ginny's father in surprise before Lillian Moon stepped up to them, still smiling that icy smile. Her white hair was tied back in a sleek bun, and she wore expensive silk dress robes with lace gloves covering her hands.

"Hullo, Draco," she said. That smile exposed her white teeth like a growling wolf. "What a lovely party you've put on here. I can only assume that the owl carrying my invitation must have got lost somewhere." She gave a tinkling laugh and held out her gloved hand to him in greeting.

When he did not take it, she dropped her hand, and with it, her false smile. "Then again, perhaps not," she said, her voice frosty.

"I'm sorry," Draco said. He tried to keep his voice civil, but he didn't think he was succeeding. "But you haven't ever given me any reason to think you'd _want_an invitation."

"Yes, well." Her piercing blue eyes left him and traveled over each of the Weasleys: Charlie, who stood on his left, Arthur and Molly, standing slightly behind him, and the twins, who were lounging again the terrace railing. Her mouth twisted in something like a sneer. "You're right about that. I'm not _overly_fond of the company you keep these days, Draco."

Beside him, Charlie stiffened, and the twins straightened suddenly, their eyes flashing.

"If you don't like it," Draco said evenly, "then you can leave. Because _these_people were actually invited."

It struck him as sort of an afterthought that he was, in a sense, defending the Weasleys. He was thinking about Ginny, really, when he said it, but it couldn't hurt to score a few points with her family, either. And he was, he realized with a start, pretty beyond caring what people like Lillian Moon thought of him.

For a moment, Lillian looked at him flatly. Then she smiled again, displaying those pristine white teeth. The smile, Draco noticed, did not reach her eyes. "Leave? No, I don't think so. Why, I've only just arrived."

"Yes," Draco said, standing his ground, "and you still haven't explained why."

Lillian Moon's blue eyes narrowed. Draco found staring into those eyes unnerving; they were exactly like Carina's, only Carina had never looked at him like that, with such contempt. "I should think that would be obvious," she said, her tone misleadingly light. "This is my grandson's birthday party, is it not?"

"And a wedding party for Draco and Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said bravely, her tone a little indignant.

Lillian spared her a single, cold glance. "That, I do not care about," she said dismissively.

"And you care about Will?" Draco gave a short, ugly laugh. "Yes, because you've made that perfectly clear, haven't you? Only, I recall you insisting you never wanted anything to do with him." He tightened his jaw resolutely. "Well, that's worked out just fine for the past three years. It doesn't need to change now."

"I have allowed you free reign these past few years, Draco," Lillian said sleekly. "But I think that—"

"Free reign?" Draco echoed incredulously. "You haven't allowed me anything, so far as Will is concerned. He's my son."

"And he's my grandson." Lillian's icy gaze left his face and swept over the garden beyond him. Draco didn't turn to look, but he knew when she had caught sight of Will: Her eyes locked on a point behind him. Readjusting her handbag, she took a step forward. "And I think I will see him now."

Draco wasn't sure what he was going to do—he had halfway lifted a hand to reach out and stop her—but there was a flurry of movement on either side of him. To his shock, Draco looked around and saw that the five Weasleys had closed in around him, as though forming ranks beside him, creating a solid wall of redheads to block Lillian Moon's path to Will. George actually had his wand out.

Lillian Moon stepped back, looking absolutely affronted. Her face twitched, as though she were suppressing an ugly sneer. "How dare you," she said, her tone icy. "This is none of your business."

"This is my daughter's house," Molly Weasley said. Her tone was unwavering. "And I don't think she'd like you here."

"And yet I haven't seen her," Lillian snapped.

But then, with perfect timing, Draco spotted a familiar face coming out the sitting room doors, and across the terrace. "Draco?" It was Ginny, looking confused at the scene before her. "What's going on?"

Lillian Moon turned. A moment of alarm flashed across Ginny's face when she saw her, but was quickly replaced with a look of flinty determination. She quickly took in the scene behind Lillian, of Draco standing with her family, and assessed the situation perfectly. "You're not welcome here," she said coolly.

Lillian, at least, seemed to know when she was defeated. She turned to give Draco one last, scathing glance, and then strode past Ginny without another word, back into the house. Draco saw Tasher scurrying after her, and he knew the house-elf would make sure she left.

Ginny blew out a huge breath when Lillian had gone, her hair whipping over her shoulder as she turned to look at Draco. Her expression was utterly baffled as her eyes traveled over her brothers and her parents, all of whom were still standing resolutely beside Draco. "What…happened?" she demanded.

Immediately, the Weasleys around him relaxed. The twins stepped off and returned to their casual poses, leaning against the terrace railing. Charlie took a deep drink of his Butterbeer.

"Lillian Moon," Draco said gravely. "That was her."

"I…I know," Ginny admitted. She looked a bit guilty. "I've met her."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, met her? When?"

"At St. Mungo's," Ginny confessed, "when I'd taken Will in for a check-up. We ran into her on our way out. She seemed to know who I was, and she knew who Will was."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco snapped.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Ginny said, but her tone was determined. "Maybe I should've told you, but I knew you'd react badly, and, well, frankly, she didn't seem the least bit interested in Will. She said—let's see, what was it?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. That he's the 'bastard son of a Malfoy, and the Malfoys are far from the respectable family they once were.'" She shook her head. "She was a piece of work, but she didn't seem, well—a threat."

Draco opened his mouth to berate her again, but he stopped himself, his jaw snapping shut. The fact was, he had always thought the same of Lillian Moon, that she wanted nothing to do with Will. The fact that she was now showing interest terrified him.

He swallowed, trying to shake himself out of the tense anxiety that had stolen over him. He turned from Ginny, and found all the Weasleys there watching him. Arthur Weasley's eyes were narrowed, as though assessing Draco; the twins were watching him surreptitiously out of the corner of their eyes.

A bitter feeling twisted Draco's gut, but he said, abruptly, "Thank you. All—all of you."

"Yes, well," Molly Weasley bustled. "She was rather rude."

"Yeah, we're not going to stand by and let her insult us," Charlie said with a brief smile.

Draco looked sideways at the twins. Fred shrugged uncomfortably, but George merely took a sip of his Butterbeer, looking nonchalant. "Well, we all like Will," he said pointedly. He could not have been clearer; he had not stood up to Lillian Moon for him at all, but only for Will. Draco really didn't care. That he _had_stood up for his son was enough.

"It's strange, though, isn't it," Mr. Weasley said thoughtfully. Draco glanced over at him and saw that his gaze had finally left Draco, and drifted towards the sitting room doors, in the direction Lillian had gone. "What did she want?"

"Well, to see her grandson, of course," Molly said uneasily, "though how she could, after being so rude about him before—"

"Yes." Draco frowned. "But why now?" He exchanged a glance with Arthur—a very quick glance, which the two of them broke away from hastily—but he knew Ginny's father was thinking along the same lines he was—what was it now that had gotten Lillian Moon interested in her grandson?

Still trying to settle himself, he looked over at Will, as though to reassure himself that his son was all right. The little boy clearly hadn't noticed anything off at all. He was still playing in circles with James and Victoire, with Bill and Fleur looking on. As Draco watched, Will plucked a blade of grass from the ground and marched up to Victoire with it. As though it were a beautiful rose, he presented it to her, his little face solemn. Victoire, however, was not impressed; she reached out with her little arms and gave him a firm shove. Will fell back on his rear, looking quite stunned.

"Oi!" Draco said indignantly. Beside him, George snorted, and Draco shot him a glare.

Fleur was now taking Victoire to task for shoving Will. But as Draco and George both watched, James marched resolutely over to Will and reached a hand down to help the little boy up. Once Will was on his feet again, James—who was not yet five years old—gave Will a friendly pat on the shoulder. Then he took off running, and, laughing, Will ran off with him. Keeping them in sight, Bill trotted off after them, too.

Bemused, Draco exchanged a glance with George and saw that the twin looked as nonplussed as he did. Probably it was occurring to him, as it was now occurring to Draco, that their sons had somehow become best friends.

* * *

"Remind me why we are doing this again?" Ginny said dryly.

Draco opened his eyes innocently. "Because I was invited."

"By the twins."

"Yep." Draco nodded, casting a glance out at the sky overhead.

Ginny sighed and did the same, assessing the conditions. There was a slight wind, but nothing too strong. Otherwise, it was sunny and quite warm in the middle of June, here at the Burrow. Both she and Draco were standing out near the orchard, holding on to their broomsticks.

"You realize," Ginny said, trying to be patient with him, "that the twins probably have something horrible planned for you. I mean, more horrible than the usual Fred-and-George horrible. I mean," she added, a bit desperate, "they really wouldn't be very upset if something happened to kill you."

"Ginny," Draco said flatly. "I'm not an idiot."

Ginny snorted, but didn't tack on the obvious answer. The suspicious glare that Draco sent her, however, told her that he'd heard the unspoken comment.

"Look," Draco said, "I'm well aware the twins only invited me to play Quidditch so that they could do something horrible to me. But, well, they aren't the only ones here, are they? You're here, and Charlie—"

"And Bill," Ginny conceded. Then she frowned. "Though I'm not sure if he would side with me or the twins, when it comes to you."

"—and we got Pucey and Davis here too," Draco pointed out. He nodded towards the two old Slytherins, who were standing off, supposedly discussing tactics. Of course, what this really meant was that Adrian was giving Tracey some last-minute pointers on Quidditch, given that Tracey had only the barest understanding of the game and was only a fair flyer.

"Yes, but still," Ginny said, exasperated.

"And," Draco added, "Fleur is keeping an eye on things too, see?" He pointed towards the blonde woman, who was sitting some ways off with Will and Victoire. She wasn't much of a flyer, but had decided to come out and watch the game with the children.

"But why on earth would you agree to this when you _know_the twins are planning to do something to you?" Ginny burst out. "I would think your usual instincts for self-preservation would have kicked in here," she added crossly.

"Why are you objecting?" Draco countered. "You like playing Quidditch."

"Not when I can't keep track of the Quaffle because I'm so busy keeping an eye on my husband to make sure he doesn't get killed," Ginny grumbled. "And you still haven't answered my question!"

"Ginny," Draco said patiently, "yes, all right, the twins likely have something nasty planned for me. But, if they aren't able to pull it off—" His eyes gleamed with excitement "—then I'll have actually beaten them at Quidditch for once."

Ginny stared at him for a moment. Then she shut her eyes, willing herself not to hex him.

"All set?" Fred said brightly, as he trundled up with their old box, containing a Quaffle and a Snitch. Ginny supposed she should be grateful they weren't playing with Bludgers, at least; there weren't enough of them to include Beaters on each team.

Draco nodded, an oddly pleasant expression on his face. Ginny found it downright disturbing.

The teams assembled as Fred got the playing balls ready. Ginny, Draco, Charlie, and Tracey were playing on one team, with Draco as Seeker, Charlie keeping, and Ginny and Tracey as Chasers. Bill was playing Seeker on the other team, Adrian keeping, and the twins playing Chaser. Ginny was determined to keep the two of them busy enough with the Quaffle so that they wouldn't have a chance to hex Draco, or do whatever they were planning to do.

Once everything was ready, they kicked off. In spite of her concern and suspicion surrounding this "friendly little game," she couldn't help but enjoy the feel of the wind in her hair, the warmth of the sun on her face. She hadn't played Quidditch in ages, and it felt wonderful, to be in the air again, soaring through the sky.

The Quaffle was let out, and for a moment, Ginny forgot about everything else as she zoomed towards it. Tracey wasn't much help as her fellow Chaser, but Ginny didn't mind; she had set Tracey the task of keeping an eye on the twins, instead, since Ginny couldn't really keep track of more than one of them at once.

She spared a quick glance upwards, at Draco, who was above everyone else, circling the field, searching out the Snitch. Bill was doing the same. Content that everyone was all right for now, Ginny went to Fred, who was in possession of the Quaffle, heading towards Charlie to score—

A searing, burning pain laced through her, and Ginny completely lost sight of the Quaffle, of the pitch, of everyone else playing. For a moment, the pain was so powerful that she couldn't even have said where it was coming from; it was her whole body, on fire, bubbling over with heat from the inside out—

And then, as her hands slipped from her broom, as she lost control, she realized—_her arm—the Mark—_

She didn't even have time to scream. The pain intensified, and as Ginny slipped from her broom and hurtled towards the earth, all she saw was blackness.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author Notes: **I'm nearly done writing this fic, so hopefully the wait between chapters won't be too bad. I thought I'd finish it this past weekend, but I ended up with a horrible migraine, which happens, sometimes, when I try to do too much in too little time. So I had to take a short break. However, I still think I'll be done by the end of the week. Looks like there's going to be about 4 more chapters after this one. Possibly quite long chapters.

There's sort of a lot of plot, in this chapter, and unfortunately not as much D/G interaction as I like, but I promise there's much more of them to come in the following chapters :D

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Ginny lay awake in her hospital bed in St. Mungo's, staring up at the ceiling overhead. She was on the ground floor, in a ward for broom crashes. It was a large ward; there were eight other people in it at the moment, all of them sleeping soundly. It was very late—past midnight, she thought.

She'd fallen off her broom. She'd fallen off her _broom_. She had _never _fallen off her broom before. She thought she knew how Harry felt now, being attacked by Dementors, or having his scar hurt so badly that he fell. Because when the mark on her arm had burned like that, there was no way she could've stayed in the air.

She was lucky that the charm had held, the charm that that masked Death Eater had taught her, the one who had come to the Burrow at night and spoken to her. So when she'd woken up in St. Mungo's, with several broken bones and a concussion, no one was aware of the Mark on her arm, still concealed by the charm she'd cast on it, the charm she had to cast on it every evening.

That no one had seen it was a small comfort, however. Ginny was seething. Lucius Malfoy, Lucius _bloody _Malfoy. What was he playing at? Was he even in the country? That Death Eater who had come to see her really hadn't given her any information, or indication, about what Lucius Malfoy wanted, or what he was doing. Was it just a not-so-friendly little reminder, his twisted way of reminding her that he had some hold over her? Ginny had not been convinced that he did—not until now. Because she had not had control over this situation, and she could've died, falling from her broom like that.

As it was, her broken bones had been mostly mended, though some were so bad that she'd needed to take some Skele-Gro, and given her concussion, they'd wanted her to stay overnight. But her bones felt mended now, and she wasn't dizzy; she was wide awake, listening to someone else in the ward snoring away. She couldn't sleep, and she was stuck here, in St. Mungo's, totally alone—

Ginny paused. _Totally alone._

Not quite.

Taking care to move slowly and quietly, Ginny slid out of her bed. She slipped on her slippers and a robe, and silently shuffled out of her ward.

There was no one in the hall. Everything was quiet. The staircase was just across the corridor. She saw no one as she crossed the hall and started upstairs.

It was a little harder than she'd anticipated; she was still sore, especially her ribs, for which she'd needed the Skele-Gro. But finally, finally, she made it to Spell Damage on the fourth floor, wincing with her last few steps, and struggling to keep her winded breathing quiet.

Once on the fourth floor, however, she realized her mistake—she had completely forgotten that the ward she was in search of, the Janus Thickey Ward, for permanent spell damage, was a closed ward. The doors would be locked, with no one around to let her in, and even if someone was there, she didn't think she was really allowed to be out of bed and up here at this time of night.

But when she glanced across the landing, towards the door that led into the ward, she spotted something odd. The door looked like it was a little ajar—just barely. Ginny limped towards it, leaning on to the wall for support. She reached out to try the door handle and—

Yes. It was open.

Instead of rejoicing in her good luck, Ginny was immediately put on her guard. Why should the door to a closed ward be left open in the middle of the night? That seemed extremely careless, and she was sure the staff at the hospital were not so careless. Wishing she'd brought her wand—it was downstairs, beside her bed on the ground floor—she eased the door open and stepped inside.

There was a small office on the right, where the Healers could usually be seen, but the door was shut and the blinds were closed. It looked like there was a light on inside, however. With some trepidation, Ginny tried this door and found it, too, was unlocked. She pushed the door open.

There was a Healer inside, a woman, but she was slumped over the desk. At first, Ginny thought she was just sleeping, but there was a stillness to her, and her position was so odd, as though she'd just collapsed quite suddenly. With a rush of foreboding, Ginny hurried over to her and felt for a pulse.

She realized, as she found it, that the woman was breathing. Perhaps she was just asleep, but the stillness about her, that she had not woken when Ginny touched her, seemed suspicious. Ginny thought she'd probably been Stunned.

Practically holding her breath, Ginny left the office, and went across into the ward. Inside, curtains were drawn around each bed, and as all was quiet, Ginny could only assume that everyone was asleep.

Except at the end of the ward. Because, at the end of the ward, on the right, there was a light on. Lit behind the curtains that were drawn around Narcissa Malfoy's bed.

Ginny swallowed noiselessly. She didn't have a wand. She'd had a quick look around for the witch's in the office, but hadn't seen one there either. It might've been more prudent to leave, to find someone and let them know that the ward was open, the Healer there had been Stunned, and there was a light on round Narcissa Malfoy's bed.

But Ginny stepped forward, her slippers silent as she walked down the ward. She had nearly reached the end—she was mere steps away—when the curtains were suddenly drawn back and Ginny found herself on the end of someone's wand.

Dread pooling in her gut, Ginny looked up into the face of the man standing before her.

It was Lucius Malfoy.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the both of them frozen still, rooted to the spot. There was absolutely nothing Ginny could do. She had no wand, nowhere to run—well, she could try to run, but she'd be Stunned, if not killed, in an instant.

But as she stood there, the seconds ticked by, and Lucius Malfoy didn't make a move. He only stared at Ginny, an expression torn between contempt and dismay on his face. It occurred to Ginny, then, that he was at his wife's bedside, and that he probably wasn't there for any sinister reason at all.

He was probably there just to visit her.

For some reason—even though he was Lucius Malfoy, even though he was a wanted felon and, the last Ginny had known, not even supposed to be in the country—this realization made her feel a bit embarrassed. As though she were intruding. She thought she flushed a little; she could feel her cheeks growing warm.

But then she reminded herself that he was a Death Eater, one that she quite hated, and that he'd lost any right to come visit his wife. He still hadn't made any attempt to hex her or hurt her, so Ginny chanced it and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Lucius Malfoy's eyes narrowed. He still didn't hex her, but he didn't lower his wand either, not an inch. "I might ask you the same thing," he said stiffly.

"Yeah, well," Ginny retorted, "the last I heard, you weren't even in the country. Because you are still wanted by the Ministry, or did you forget?"

"And you," Lucius said, his quiet voice shaking with anger, "have absolutely no family in this ward, and therefore no reason to be here."

Ginny could feel her cheeks growing warm again, but she refused to back down. Her eyes flickered, very quickly, over to the woman lying in the bed, Narcissa, looking peaceful as ever; she might have been sleeping. But then Ginny looked back at Lucius, hardening her gaze. "I'm in the hospital for other reasons," she said pointedly.

"Not in _this_ward, surely?" Lucius Malfoy sneered. "Or am I to believe you got lost?"

For a moment, Ginny didn't answer him. She wondered how much he knew, or suspected. After all, if he was behind the burning of the Mark on her arm—and that masked Death Eater had told her as much—then he should realize that her being in hospital might have something to do with that. Yet it was odd; he seemed completely surprised, and not very happy, to see her—that is to say, he didn't seem like a man who had lately been trying to threaten her and pressure her, even if from a distance.

After staring at him in silence for a minute—tense and still—Ginny said, abruptly, "I wanted to talk to you."

The sneer actually left his face for a moment, as something odd—surprise, she supposed—flickered through his eyes. But then his expression of contempt returned, and he said coldly, "And you knew I would be here? How?"

"No, I didn't know," Ginny said impatiently. "I had no idea. But, now that you are, I want to talk to you." She held up her left arm, forearm facing out. "I want to talk to you about this."

The Mark, of course, wasn't visible; even without the charm she had cast upon it, it wouldn't be visible now, now that it wasn't burning, and so thoroughly covered by the scarring on her arm. Nevertheless, she knew Lucius would know what she was referring to.

He looked at her arm for a moment, his expression quite blank. Then—taking a moment to assess her, probably to be sure she had no wand—he said curtly, "Not here." He pointed over her shoulder with his wand. "In the office."

Ginny was not keen to turn her back on him, but she didn't have much choice, so she went, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure he was following and not trying to hex her. They left the ward and went into the office, where the Healer was still Stunned, slumped over in her chair.

"Your work, I suppose," Ginny said dryly, as Lucius shut the door behind them.

"She's only Stunned," he said coolly, locking the door with his wand, "and I will cast a Memory Charm on her before I leave."

At the far end of the office, Ginny stopped, crossing her arms over her chest. He still held his wand, but he wasn't pointing it at her anymore, though she was sure he would curse her in an instant if she tried anything.

"So?" he said derisively, facing her. "Get on with it."

Ginny suppressed a surge of anger. "It's really you that should be doing the talking," she said impatiently, "seeing as you've been messing with me for the past four months. What exactly is it that you _want? _Or are you just trying to scare me? Remind me that you're still around?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed Lucius' face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about _this_, of course!" Ginny hissed, holding up her arm again. "About the Mark burning! I was on a broomstick when it burned today. That's why I'm here, because I fell off, and broke about half the bones in my body. I could have been killed. But then," she added bitterly, "I suppose you wouldn't really care about that, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," Lucius said coldly. "But I'm afraid I still don't know what you're talking about. If your Mark has been burning, that's news to me."

Ginny stared at him. He couldn't be serious. Did he actually expect her to believe that? "Oh, right," she said, not bothering to keep the disbelief out of her voice. "No, of course not. Why would you have anything to do with it?"

"Listen to me, you stupid girl," Lucius said, and his voice was still quite calm, though there was a hint of impatience there. "I had that Mark put on you with the intention of using you to control someone. Someone who is no longer in my reach. So there is absolutely no reason for me to have been using it against you. As amusing as it is that you fell off your broom, I have more important things to tend to."

"Control someone?" Ginny repeated. She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Who?"

Lucius eyed her for a moment. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, as though to make sure no one was coming, though the blinds were still pulled shut, and he didn't make any attempt to look through them.

"A prisoner," he said coolly, finally answering her. "Someone who _cared _for you, Merlin knows why. We'd been having trouble with him. But as he escaped nearly six months ago, I have absolutely no use for you. In fact, ever since I left the Riddle House and left the country, I've had no use for you."

Momentarily disregarding the identity of this prisoner, Ginny demanded, "Then who's been doing this?" She waved her arm. "Who else knows about it that could've been doing this? And anyway—" She didn't give him a chance to answer, for she had suddenly remembered why she had thought it was him "—someone _told_ me it was you, one of your people! A Death Eater came to my house—well, to the Burrow, I mean—last February, and he _said _you were behind it. That you wanted to use this Mark to get to me."

Lucius looked at her, his grey eyes narrowed. Oddly, he wasn't so much glaring at her as looking thoughtful, or suspicious. "A Death Eater came to your home last February?" he repeated slowly, as though thinking this through.

Ginny nodded.

"Who?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. He was masked. And trying to disguise his voice, by the sound of it."

Lucius' eyes narrowed even further, only now, the hint of a smirk touched the corner of his mouth. He seemed grimly amused by something. "So someone—you don't know who—came to you—in February—and said that _I_was behind your Mark burning? What else did he say?"

Ginny frowned. She didn't like this. Lucius seemed like he knew something, but he wasn't telling, not yet. Nevertheless, she reluctantly answered him. "He said…he told me how to hide the Mark. A charm I could use. And he asked me why I hadn't told—" She broke off, biting her tongue.

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Hadn't told…what? To whom?"

Ginny looked at him, wrestling with herself. There was a certain subject—or a certain person, really—that neither of them had touched on yet, had even mentioned. Ginny hadn't realized until now that she would have preferred to keep it that way. But she went on and said, "He asked why I hadn't told Draco about the Mark."

Lucius' cold eyes flashed at the mention of his son. He likely didn't like the reminder that Ginny and Draco were involved. It occurred to her that it was possible he didn't know they were married. Well, she wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

"And why haven't you told Draco?" Lucius asked coolly.

"None of your business," Ginny said forcefully. "Which is what I told that Death Eater who came to my house. Who _was_that Death Eater, anyway? Only, you obviously know something—"

"I suspect," Lucius interrupted, "that it was someone you know quite well. Only, he left us, you see. Not long before he came to see you."

"_Who?_" Ginny demanded.

"Blaise Zabini," Lucius said, his tone indifferent.

A cold shock ran through Ginny. Before she could really think it through—before she could even consider it—she heard herself say, "Blaise isn't a Death Eater."

Lucius' eyebrow hitched. He looked at her quite intently, as though studying her, or waiting for some other reaction. When she didn't give him any, he said, with clear surprise, "You already knew that he's alive."

Ginny opened her mouth to respond to this, and then shut it. She couldn't say anything except confirm it, and for some reason, she was unwilling to say anything about Blaise, to Lucius Malfoy.

"You've seen him," Lucius went on. It wasn't a question, but he seemed to take her silence for assent. "You've spoken to him." He paused. "Besides the time he came to your house masked, that is."

"That wasn't him!" Ginny argued, refusing to accept this. "I'd have known! And he's not a Death Eater, so that makes no sense!"

"He's not a willing Death Eater," Lucius said dismissively. "Or at least, he wasn't at first. But he has the Mark, and he was agreeable about taking it, unlike you."

"You're lying." Hot anger coursed through Ginny like liquid fire. This couldn't be true, any of it. He was trying to get to her.

"Blaise Zabini," Lucius said, ignoring her accusation, "became a Death Eater nearly a year ago. Before that, he was our prisoner. He was, in fact, the prisoner we wanted to control, using you."

"You—what?" Ginny blinked. "It was _Blaise?_" But this, unfortunately, only fit too well into what she already knew. That they'd had Blaise, at the Riddle House, and that they'd wanted information from him, information he didn't have. Perhaps they thought they could control her, threaten her, to get Blaise to give them this information.

"Yes," Lucius said. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the locked door. The tense watchfulness had left him; he now looked quite comfortable, complacent, even. No doubt he enjoyed toying with her. "But he eventually relented, you know. He joined our ranks—"

"I don't believe that!"

"If you're in contact with him, you can ask him yourself." Lucius shrugged indifferently. "You _have _spoken with him, haven't you? And—" His eyes suddenly alighted. "And, I'm sure you haven't told Draco, have you? Only, you do seem fond of keeping secrets from him."

Ginny bit back a retort, refusing to rise to his bait, refusing to respond to the jibe about Draco. She would not even give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that he had mentioned Draco.

"In any case," Lucius said, moving past the subject of Draco, "the answer to your initial question should be obvious now. Blaise Zabini is obviously the one who has been using your Mark to…contact you."

Ginny found herself nearly shaking with suppressed fury. "That's ridiculous. Why in Merlin's name would he do that?"

"Why do you think?" Lucius Malfoy snapped. "Do you think he's happy to know that you married my son? Living your life with him and my grandson, while he's been held captive?"

He wasn't, Ginny knew that he wasn't. He had said so. But that he would use her Mark to…_contact_…her, to speak to her, for no other reason, really, than to interrupt her life with Draco and Will…that was beyond mere jealousy or regret; that was twisted, that was obsessive. That was malicious; whoever had been doing this to her was doing it for no other reason than to upset her, to hurt her, even. She couldn't believe that of Blaise. She couldn't.

But she couldn't help it, now, thinking back to that night at the Burrow, when that Death Eater had lured her out and talked to her…there had moments, in that conversation, when that person had seemed familiar, when she thought she'd recognized the voice. Had that been Blaise's voice? Was it possible? It was too long ago now, and Ginny couldn't hear the voice in her memory anymore, not particularly. But he _had_seemed to know her…he had seemed to know her quite well, even…

She shook her head. It couldn't be true. It was ridiculous. She looked up at Lucius and found him smirking at her.

"I don't believe it," she said quietly.

"Believe it or not," he said, straightening. "It doesn't matter to me. But _I_haven't had anything to do with your Mark burning. I couldn't care less about you, girl, not even enough to stoop to spending my time coming up with ways to annoy you," he said, his tone sardonic. "Now if you don't mind—" He raised his wand, and Ginny flinched, half-thinking he was going to hex her "—I need to wake this Healer and erase her memory. It's past time I was gone."

"Are you going to erase my memory, too?" Ginny asked boldly, looking him full in the face.

Lucius sneered. "No. No, I think I should like you to remember what I've told you about your precious Blaise Zabini tonight. You may say you don't believe it, but you'll consider it. You'll consider it, and think about it, until you do believe it."

Ginny stared back at him defiantly.

"Nevertheless—" His wand shifted slightly, and now it _was_ pointed at Ginny. She tried not to flinch again, though a chill of alarm ran through her. "What _am _I to do with you? What's to keep you from running to tell the Aurors that I am back in England?"

"I won't tell them," Ginny said bitterly. It rankled her, but she knew she wouldn't. She knew what she had to do.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I'll tell Draco," she said calmly. She had decided this already, hadn't she, when she'd thought Draco was keeping his father hidden at the manor. As much as she hated Lucius Malfoy, she had too much understanding, now, about Draco and his father. "I'll tell him, and let him decide what to do with the information. And if you don't want me telling Draco, well, then, you'll have to kill me or kidnap me, because I won't keep that from him."

"Yes," Lucius said with contempt, "I suppose yet another secret wouldn't be a good idea, would it?"

Ginny bit her tongue. "So," she said, "are you going to let me go or not?"

Lucius looked at her for a moment. His expression was one of great dislike, and she knew he didn't like it, to let her go. Not only because he hated her as much as she hated him, but because he surely didn't quite trust that she wouldn't tell the Aurors he'd been here.

But he had said it. He had mentioned her being married to Draco, so he knew. She supposed, now, that he couldn't deny that she meant something to Draco, that she was a part of his life. And she believed that he wouldn't want to hurt his son if he didn't have. If he didn't _really _have to.

And so there he was, lowering his wand briefly, unlocking the door. He yanked it open, peered out into the corridor, and then jerked his head. "Go," he said shortly.

Keeping her eyes on him all the way, she stalked out of the office.

* * *

Ginny was released from the hospital the next morning, but she didn't yet have a chance to tell Draco about his father. Tracey accompanied her home from St. Mungo's, as Draco had needed to go into work early.

Ginny spent the day at home alone. Even Will wasn't there; Draco had dropped him off with Fleur in the morning. After a quick Floo call with Fleur, it was decided that Will would stay there until Draco could pick him up after work; her sister-in-law insisted that Ginny needed her rest.

Will, however, would have proved a welcome distraction for Ginny, a distraction from her own thoughts. Over and over again, she played through her conversation with Lucius in her head, trying to find the flaws, some hole in his explanation that would prove it made absolutely no sense. In the end, it _didn't _make sense, because she knew Blaise. And he wouldn't have done this. He wouldn't have become a Death Eater—he'd proved over and over again that he wanted to remain neutral, that that was in his best interests—and he certainly wouldn't have hurt Ginny, he couldn't have. She knew him.

Except that, an insidious little voice continued to creep into her mind, interrupting her arguments with herself. _Do you really know him? What do you know, really? _She had only dated him for a little while, not even six months, and that was eight years ago. Hadn't she realized, when she'd discovered Blaise was alive, that so much of what she'd felt for him, all along, had been her own guilt? That it had been herself, building up their relationship in her head, making it into something deeper, something more than it really was?

Yet if that were true…why would Blaise go through all the trouble of trying to get to her like this, why would he do that if their relationship had been nothing, meant nothing? Lucius claimed Blaise would do it because of his own rage, his own jealousy, over her life with Draco. And Blaise _had _admitted that he felt that way…but strongly enough to do this to her?

All these thoughts played through her head until she didn't know _what_to think anymore. None of it made sense, no, it did make sense, no, there was no way…. Frustrated, Ginny found herself pacing in the townhouse sitting room in the early evening, waiting for Draco to come home with Will.

Early evening turned to late evening, and still, Draco didn't come home. Finally, when it was nearly eight o'clock, just when Ginny was beginning to get worried, Fleur Flooed and said that Draco had contacted _her _to let her know that he was going to be quite late from work. Fleur insisted that Will stay with them for the night, that that would be easier for everyone, and although Ginny was going stir-crazy, alone in the house, she had to agree on this.

She also agreed because an idea was forming in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more she managed to convince herself that she should just go and see Blaise, and _ask _him about all this. It probably wasn't true anyway—just Lucius spinning lies—and then she could stop making herself crazy.

But her doubts plagued her all the way through the tunnel into the manor.

Blaise was flipping through an edition of the _Quibbler _when she turned up in the kitchen at Malfoy Manor. He gave quite a start when she came in from the pantry, all but dropping the magazine in some haste. Ginny eyed him suspiciously.

"Where did you get that magazine, anyway? I thought you weren't leaving here," she said.

He frowned, looking puzzled. "You brought that for me last time," he said. "Remember?"

"Oh." Ginny did not, precisely, remember, but she had brought a stack of papers for him to read last time; perhaps the _Quibbler _had gotten stuck up in there. As it was, she hardly spared a thought for the magazine. She had other things on her mind.

"So." Blaise was sitting perched on one of the stools. He leaned back, balancing the stool on the two back legs. "Doesn't look like you brought me anything this time, Weasley. What—" He broke off, sending her a sharp look. "What's with you?" he said bluntly.

"Wh-what?" Ginny stuttered.

Blaise raised a cool eyebrow. "You're staring," he said. "At me." He frowned. "You've got a funny look on your face."

Ginny opened her mouth, but whatever words that were coming got stuck. She felt as though someone had stuffed something thick and sticky down her throat, stopping up her airway. Breathing in deeply, she shut her mouth for the moment. Blaise blinked back at her expectantly.

"Well?" he prompted.

His casual, even arrogant, tone of voice broke it out of her. "It was you, wasn't it?" Her voice came out hoarse, but she could hear the sense of betrayal throbbing in it. "You came to my house that night, to the Burrow. You showed me—" She held up her left arm "—how to hide _this_."

She hadn't meant to say it so baldly. She hadn't meant to say it with such _conviction_, as though she actually believed it, as though she knew it were true. Because she _didn't _believe it…did she?

The front legs of Blaise's stool came clattering back to the ground. He stared at her flatly, but there was an odd gleam in his eyes, like panic. "What are you talking about?" he asked warily.

She didn't like his reaction. It was subtle, but it was there. "It _was_ you. You came to the Burrow that night. And you, you—" She swallowed. "You've been…_using _my Mark. Making it burn. That first night, and then a few days later, at the Burrow…and then—" She let out a breathy sound of disbelief, like a laugh that was not really a laugh. "And then yesterday—"

"Merlin, Weasley, what _are_ you talking about?" Blaise demanded. A scowl had come over his face, but he had gone utterly still, like a deer that had been caught in the sights of a predator. He thought she hadn't noticed, but suddenly she could see it, all over him. A sense of guilt and alarm, that she'd figured it out, that he'd been _caught_.

"I almost died, did you know that?" she went on. She was almost shouting now, and she didn't know where she got the energy, because she still felt bowled over with the shock of it all. "I was on a bloody broomstick, Blaise, in the air, and I fell and broke half the bloody bones in my body, I hit my head—I could've been _dead_."

She paused, almost waiting for another denial from him. But it didn't come. He was staring at her soundlessly now, and his face had gone ashen. As if she needed any more confirmation that it was true, all _true_.

"I can't believe it," Ginny muttered. She took several, unsteady steps back from him and then collapsed onto a few crates packed on the floor, her legs going out like jelly. She shook her head. "I can't—how—" She felt nauseated.

"Ginny—" Blaise started to say.

"Don't!" she snapped, glaring up at him. "I can't—what else is true? What else of what he told me is true? Are you a Death Eater?"

"What?" Blaise pulled a face. "Don't be stupid. Why would I become a Death Eater?"

She had wondered that herself, but it made sense now. "They were holding you captive," she reasoned, almost speaking more to herself than to him. "And you've always been about trying to keep yourself alive, Blaise. If they wanted you to—if they asked you—you would've done it. I'm sure you would've done it. Wouldn't you?"

Blaise was glaring back at her now. "Who told you all this?" he spat. "It can't have been Draco. He doesn't know all this. Who?"

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, the hot retort that she'd spoken to Lucius Malfoy on her tongue, but the words didn't reach her lips before she realized what he'd said. "Wait…Draco?" She stared at him, confused. "What do you mean, Draco doesn't know all this? Draco doesn't even know that you're alive."

"Oh, really?" Blaise bit back at her. "Shows what you know."

Fury welled up within Ginny like a fire erupting. "Don't be stupid," she growled. "And don't try to turn this around on me, or on Draco! You've been lying, you've been trying to—to _use _me, I don't think I even want to know why, and now you're trying to turn this on Draco—"

"Merlin, Weasley!" Blaise erupted. He leapt to his feet so fast that Ginny thought he was going to hex her, or attack her, so she started to her feet as well. "You're bloody _blind!_ How do you think I got in here? Who do you think showed me the tunnel, let me in? Did you really believe I _overheard _Lucius Malfoy talking about it? How unlikely is that? Who would he have been talking to about it, you stupid bint!"

Ginny stared at him. She was torn between alarm at how suddenly angry he was, and dismay at what he was saying. It couldn't be true…Draco couldn't have known Blaise was alive, let him in here, and never said anything…could he?

"Draco has known that I was alive for more than a year," Blaise seethed. He started pacing, back and forth, like a dangerous animal that had been cooped up too long. His dark, haunted eyes were alight with rage. "Ever since you two came to the Riddle House, for your bloody _son_. His father brought him to me, showed him I was alive. We didn't really have time for a nice chat, of course, because the Aurors got in, and Lucius had to flee."

Ginny stared at him, her mouth going dry. This had to be a lie…but he sounded so certain, and he had such details…making this up off the top of his head would have been awfully hard…

"There was a moment." Blaise stopped pacing abruptly, but he was breathing hard, as though he'd just run a marathon. "A moment when Draco and I were alone. And I asked him to help me." His hands clenched together in identical fists. "But before he could say anything, Lucius came back, and he took me and we _left_." Blaise shook his head.

Ginny felt bile rising in her throat, as she heard these words. And she remembered now, what Draco had told her, his exact words—when he'd told her he was keeping something from her, something he had found out in the Riddle House…he had told her…

_"…at the Riddle House, I found out—my father told me—something…. I'm not hurting anyone by keeping this secret, okay? No harm will come to Will, or to—or to you. I swear that, Gin."_

"No," Ginny whispered. "He would've told me. He would've—"

"Of course he wouldn't!" Blaise spat, whirling around to face her. "He's so bloody in love with you, he wouldn't risk _losing _you by telling you that I was still alive! You should've seen him, that night I turned up at your flat! He was scared out of his bloody wits, thinking I'd wake you, thinking you might see me! He couldn't get me out of there fast enough!"

Ginny shut her eyes. She pressed her hands over her mouth, thinking she might vomit again.

"So I left, and a couple of nights later, he brought me here. Told me not to leave, told me I couldn't do any magic." For a moment, Blaise seemed to hesitate, and Ginny opened her eyes, and looked at him. But then his gaze hardened, and all he said was, "I haven't seen him since."

Ginny felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of her. "It can't be true," she said numbly, but she no longer really believed that herself. "He—how could he not tell me?"

Draco had said that the secret he was keeping wouldn't hurt her. He'd promised that. But he'd been wrong. Because Ginny felt as though he'd slid a knife in her, right through her ribcage, cold and sharp.

"I don't know why you're so surprised," Blaise said, his voice full of rancor. "He's a _Malfoy_. He's Death Eater scum, just like the rest of his family—"

"He isn't a Death Eater." Of all the things Blaise could have said, to pull her out of this shock, to bring her back around to Draco, this was it. She felt herself straighten, she felt the cold fear and the stinging pain leave her, and she looked Blaise right in the eye. "He _isn't_ a Death Eater. He _was _a Death Eater. You might've become one—you just as well admitted it—but Draco, he's—"

"He's what?" Blaise snapped. "Are you going to tell me he's _changed_, Weasley? That he's good now, good and noble and self-sacrificing like you and the rest of your barmy friends and family? Well, you're wrong." Blaise snorted. "You're dead wrong. Anything Malfoy has done, he's done for himself. You said it yourself, Ginny," Blaise said, his eyes gleaming with spite. "That I did what I did to keep myself alive. Well, anything Malfoy has done—bringing you in to his family, helping the Order, even getting in all chummy with your family—all of that, it's all just been to help himself. To stay alive, and to keep his happy, comfortable little life. Don't kid yourself into thinking otherwise."

"You have no idea," Ginny said, her voice shaking. "You don't know what you're talking about—"

"If he'd been in my position," Blaise cut in, "he would've done the exact same thing. If he'd been offered the choice of death or rejoining the Death Eaters, he'd have done it in a heartbeat, and _you_ be damned." His eyes narrowed. "And if you don't believe me, go home and _ask_him, why don't you."

* * *

Draco sighed, glancing up at the clock on the wall in his office. It was past seven o'clock, and he still wasn't quite done yet. He was thinking he should probably Floo Fleur and let her know that he was going to be a bit late.

Just then, a memo zoomed in his open office door, and landed on his desk, in front of him. Wearily, Draco picked it up and opened it. His tired eyes passed over the words once, quickly. Then, when he'd realized what he'd just read, he sat up straight, suddenly alert, and read the note again.

_Draco,  
Meet me in the usual place. Now. This concerns your son._

_L. M._

Draco stared at the letter. He'd only just finished reading it the second time through when it suddenly caught alight at the corner. With a strangled yelp, Draco dropped the memo, as it caught fire and then quickly burnt to black ash, left in a pile on his desk.

For a moment, Draco was frozen. His father. He knew it was his father. And he wanted to meet with him? About…Will? It was that last bit that resolved him, that got him moving right away. He was still stunned, that his father was here, in the country, in London, but if this was about Will, then he didn't have time to think it over.

He paused only to Floo Bill and Fleur, and let them know that he wouldn't be by until late. Fleur assured him it was no problem, and suggested that Will just spend the night at Shell Cottage, that Ginny could come pick him up in the morning. Draco agreed, and said goodbye to her.

He Apparated straight out of his office and into a tiny, dark little alleyway in Knockturn Alley.

Draco looked around nervously. There was no one in sight. His father had said "the usual place," which, Draco was very sure, was this alley. He was just beginning to think he'd got it wrong when a movement on his right caught his eye. He glanced aside sharply, just as his father came into view, his wand raised over his head as he removed a Disillusionment Charm.

Draco swallowed, looking at him. He glanced around nervously; he'd thought his father would probably come in some Polyjuiced form to be safe, but here he was, in his own skin, looking just as Draco had remembered him, though perhaps a little paler and thinner.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius drawled.

"What are you doing here, Dad?" Draco asked, resolving that his voice would not waver. He hardened his expression. It wasn't that he bore his father any ill will, not really, but Lucius had said this was about Will, and Draco and his father had never agreed when it came to Will. "Back in the country?"

"I'm here for you," Lucius said, his own gaze hard. "As I said in the note, I'm here about your son."

Draco pushed down the fear that leapt in his gut and said evenly, "What about him?"

"Lillian Moon is going to file for full custody of him," Lucius said.

Draco stared. He felt as though his father had punched him in the stomach. Of all the things he'd expected his father to say—that he wanted to take Will away, that Death Eaters were planning to come after him—he had not expected _that_. "Lillian—Lillian Moon?" Draco shook his head. "I—what—how can you—"

"I still have a friend or two in the Ministry, Draco," Lucius said grimly. "I hear things. In fact, I've made it my business to hear anything that concerns you or your son. You'll probably get notice tomorrow. She wants to take him away from you."

As the shock began to fade, cold, incredulous anger swept through Draco, running through his veins like ice. "That's ridiculous," he said shortly. "She can file for custody all she wants. She can't have him." He thought back to the party, on her insistence to see Will. For a brief, horrible moment, Draco wondered—just wondered—that if he'd let her see him, then maybe this wouldn't be happening.

No. She'd probably already been planning this. And coming to the party had just been her way of threatening him.

"I don't think you should dismiss this, Draco," Lucius said warningly. He glanced down the alley, but there was no one near, no one to hear or see them.

"She doesn't have a case," Draco said impatiently. "She'd need a pretty good reason to take a son from his father, even if she is his biological grandmother."

"And the fact that your son has already been kidnapped once? You don't think that gives her a case?" Lucius shook his head. "Will has been put in danger more than once because of you, Draco. Because someone was trying to get at you. It began in the hospital in France, just after he'd been born, and has continued to this day. You had to move out of your flat not two months ago because Death Eaters came after you."

"Lillian Moon may as well _be_ a Death Eater!" Draco burst out. "And you think she's the better choice?" When he said _you_, he wasn't really referring to his father directly, but Lucius took him by surprise when he answered.

"Yes." Lucius sent him a very level look. "Yes, I do."

Draco took a step back. "You—what? You can't possibly—don't you know what that woman _is?_"

"Do you?" Lucius retorted. "Draco, what do you really know about Lillian Moon?"

"That she's a bloody sympathizer of the Dark Lord, for one thing!"

"I don't think she is." Lucius shook his head. "Oh, she may have been, at one time—when she was younger, perhaps. But having children can make you think twice about having someone like the Dark Lord in power, and to actually _lose_that child…I think you'd find she's changed, quite a bit, since she lost her daughter."

"And you know this how?" Draco snapped.

"As I said," Lucius said smoothly, "I have made it my business to stay informed on anything, any _person_, concerning you. That included Lillian Moon. She is Carina's mother, after all. I'm rather surprised, Draco, that you've been so lax as to ignore her all this time."

"She hasn't wanted anything to do with Will!" Draco snarled. "If she's so keen to have him, if she really cares about him, then why did she tell me she blamed him for Carina's death! Why did she tell Ginny that he was nothing more than the bastard son of a Malfoy!"

Lucius lifted a shoulder in a graceful shrug. "I would not be surprised if she felt that way, so soon after her daughter had died. She would have been grieving. But I also believe that, with time, she has come to see that it is not, of course, your son's fault that her daughter is dead."

"She saw Ginny only a few months ago," Draco retorted. "She was with Will, and Lillian said to her face—"

"Perhaps seeing Will is what made her realize she had changed her mind," Lucius pointed out.

"I—you—this is mad!" Draco exclaimed. "You can't be serious, Dad! You can't really be trying to convince me of this! What about _me? _Oh, right, I forgot—" Draco let out a short, harsh laugh. "You don't think I'm much of a father, do you? You've been in favor of Will being raised elsewhere since he was born—"

"Yes, I have, Draco," Lucius said sharply. "I have. And I wish you could see it. I wish you could see what _I _couldn't see, when you were a child, when the Dark Lord returned."

Draco stared at him. "What do you mean? See what you couldn't see?"

Lucius reached out and gripped Draco's shoulder. "I wish," he said quietly, looking into Draco's eyes, "that I had realized, when the Dark Lord returned, that I should have done everything in my power to keep you safe from him. That I should have sent you away—"

"No, Dad, you can't mean that—"

"—that I should have, even, shown absolutely no regard for you," Lucius said firmly. "Because if the Dark Lord had thought that I didn't care for you, he wouldn't have used you against me as punishment. He wouldn't have given you the task of killing Dumbledore, when you were still just a boy."

"I was sixteen—"

"And still a boy." Lucius withdrew his hand from Draco's shoulder and looked away. "And still my son. And I should have protected you from that. From all of that."

Draco felt sick. He couldn't imagine—he didn't want—

"And so," Lucius said, "I wish that _you _could see that. I wish that you could understand that. Not only the benefits of letting the boy go, not only how much safer he could be, elsewhere—"

"He's perfectly safe with me," Draco whispered. "Now that we've got the townhouse—we have all sorts of protective charms and jinxes. Anti-Intruder Jinxes, and Disillusionment Charms, and Anti-Apparition wards and alarms—"

"You had all that at the manor, and he still wasn't safe enough."

"I would die for him," Draco said. His voice was still pitched low, but it burned with intensity. His words rang with emotion. "I would die for him, and so would Ginny—"

"Yes," Lucius said, his mouth twisting bitterly, "and you'll both do him so much good, once you're dead."

Draco shook his head. "You can't be serious."

"And it's not only a question of how safe is he, how protected," Lucius went on, "but don't you see, Draco, can't you understand? If you let Lillian Moon take the boy—if you let him go, without a fight, if you made it clear, in public, that it meant nothing to you—"

"How could I make that clear?" Draco protested. His voice was shaking. "How could I ever pretend that I don't care about my own son? What good would that do, who would believe it?"

"If you could do that—" Once again, Lucius met his gaze, his grey eyes steely "—then you could save him, Draco. You could protect him. Because the Death Eaters, and anyone else, would have no reason to come after him, if they thought he meant nothing to you."

Draco stared at him. A lump was forming in his throat, and a horrible, weighty feeling pressed in upon him, from all sides. He was trembling from head to toe, even though it wasn't the slightest bit cool outside. "It's mad," he said, the words choking through him. "You're mad. I can't give up my son. I _can't_."

Lucius looked away. He glanced down the alley, his eyes distant. "I don't know if I could have done, either," he said quietly. "But I wish I had."

His father left him not long after that. Leaving Draco alone, in the dark little alley. Draco felt cold, and tired. He wanted, very desperately, to see Will. But it was late; Will was at Shell Cottage for the night, and Draco didn't want to turn up out of the blue and wake him up. So he Apparated home, instead, alone.

Ginny wasn't there when he got home. He found this very odd, and a small part of him felt a tiny bit anxious, because she'd come home from hospital this morning, and she should have just been here, resting. But he was too distracted to really worry about it, too caught up in his own thoughts.

He moved through the house alone, not bothering to light any lamps that weren't already lit. He drifted into his study, where he stopped to pour himself a glass of Firewhiskey. He downed the glass in one go, and then poured himself another one, before wandering out of his study and into the small library. It was dark in there, only one small, dim lamp lit on the other side of the room. There was a small window at the back of the room, too, but it was fully dark out now, so no light shone through.

Draco sat heavily in the armchair in the corner, nursing his glass of Firewhiskey. He could not even bring himself to consider what his father had suggested. He couldn't actually consider willingly giving up his son.

He had kept Will safe until now; he could continue to keep him safe. So many of the Death Eaters were back in Azkaban now, and with the Dark Lord nowhere to be found, their general activity would die down in time. More of them would be caught or killed; the rest would slip out of the country for good, or find their way back into respectable society. They'd leave him alone, eventually. And until then, he and Ginny were perfectly capable of keeping Will safe.

Of course, none of that would stop Lillian Moon from filing for custody. It sounded as though she already had. And as convinced as he was that he could keep Will safe, Ministry officials might not be as sure as he was. His father was right on that count; it would be easy for Lillian to show what danger Will had been put in already.

They would just have to fight her. Draco nodded to himself, taking another gulp of his drink. Prove that Lillian was a worse alternative, and prove that Will could be safe with them. That's all there was to it. Draco was resolved on that. Case closed.

Yet as he sat there, in the near-darkness, his father's words continued to haunt him…his admission, that he should have given Draco up…and fear, fear of what losing Will could to him….

He sat there for close to an hour. Totally alone, except for when Tasher came in hesitantly and asked if he could get anything for him. Draco dismissed him absently, and remained there, until—

"Draco?"

Draco gave a start and looked around, to the open door behind him, which led into the study. Ginny stood there. She looked completely fine, unlike the mess she had been when he'd left her at St. Mungo's last night. He felt a rush of relief at the sight of her, and he realized, all day, he'd been on edge, worried about her. He covered this by asking irritably, "Where have you been?"

Her expression sharpened. "Where have _you _been?" she snapped.

"I was at work," Draco said crossly. He lifted his glass to his lips and realized there was barely anything left to drink. Putting it aside, he turned his back on her, facing forward in his chair. "Didn't Fleur Floo you?"

"Yes." Slowly, she came around in front of him. She stood facing him for a moment, her arms folded across her chest. He registered, vaguely, that she looked angry; her eyes were dark and narrowed as she looked at him, her whole body tense. "Draco, I know—"

"I wasn't," he said suddenly. He wanted to curse himself. Even now, after all this time, it was his instinct to keep secrets from her. He shouldn't do that anymore, not when he didn't have to. "I wasn't at work, I mean. Not all this time."

Her eyes narrowed even further. "Where were you?" she demanded.

"My father came to see me," he said numbly. The shock, of seeing his father, of hearing that Will could be taken from him, was still sitting inside him, just pushed aside by the whiskey. He felt unstable, vulnerable, like he could blow apart at any second.

Ginny drew in a breath sharply. "He came to—" She broke off. Draco waited for her to burst out angrily at him, but instead, she said, abruptly, "I saw him, too."

"What?" Draco jerked his head up to look at her. "How? When?"

"Last night, at the hospital," she said. "I—"

"He came to see you?" Draco demanded. "At the _hospital?_"

Ginny shook her head. "No, no, I…ran into him." She sounded faintly apologetic. "I had gotten up for a walk, in the corridors, and I…well, like I said, I ran into him. Basically."

"But what was he doing there, then?"

"I—" Ginny bit her lip. "Draco, I think he was—going to visit—"

"My mum," Draco finished, the realization hitting him like a hammer. "Of course," he said dully. Something twisted inside of him, something painful.

Ginny sighed. "I was going to tell you, as soon as I saw you. I told him I was going to tell you—"

"No need," Draco said bitterly. "He saw to that." He swallowed, suddenly afraid to look at Ginny. "He said—he heard something. That—Lillian Moon. She's filing for full custody of Will."

"_What?_" Draco looked up at Ginny, now, and she seemed to deflate in shock. If she had been angry before, that was gone now. The only thing in her eyes was concern. "She's _what? _She can't be serious!"

"That's probably why she came, to the party," Draco said wryly. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I think she was already planning to do it, even then. She wanted to see how we'd react, to her showing up."

"That _cow_," Ginny swore. "That miserable old _cow_."

"Yeah, well." Draco picked up his glass again, without thinking, then realized it was empty. He peered inside it, his mouth twisting in a grimace. "She can try to get him all she likes. She's not taking him from us."

"Of course she won't," Ginny said. Her voice was soft, but fierce. Something about it broke through Draco. A horrible, swooping fear went through him, and everything he hadn't allowed himself to consider, to feel, burst out.

"But what if she does?" he whispered. He stared at the space between him and Ginny, at the floor. "We haven't—she has a case. Will's been targeted by Death Eaters more than once, everyone knows he was kidnapped because of me. And she may be a miserable old bat, but there's nothing public, nothing on record—"

"Draco—"

"She has a case, Ginny," he said quietly. He felt miserable, afraid; the thought of losing Will made him want to crawl into a small, dark space, to escape from it, because he couldn't face it, couldn't face the possibility of losing him. "What if she does it?"

Ginny didn't say anything. Swallowing, he looked up at her. He saw his same fear reflected in her face, her eyes haunted at the thought of losing Will. She was afraid, too, and she didn't try to hide it from him. Draco felt a rush of affection for her.

Putting his glass aside, he stood from the chair, a little unsteady on his feet. He stepped in close to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close. For a moment, she was stiff, but before he had time to wonder what was wrong, she relaxed, all the tension going out of her. Her arms went around his middle, and she rested her head on his chest. The sweet smell of her hair, the warmth of her body, was more of a comfort to him than she could ever know.

"You never said," he said quietly. "Where were you?"

One of her hands clenched at his back, her fingertips digging into him for a moment. Then she said, "I just went to Fred and George's flat for a late dinner. I…was alone all day. I just wanted company."

His arms tightened around her, sucking her in as close to him as she could get. Ginny, his only refuge, his only tie to the world. Her, he could not lose.

* * *

Ginny woke up very, very early the next morning, before the sun had properly risen. She lay awake next to Draco, who was breathing deeply, his face turned towards her. She looked at him for a moment before rolling on to her side, turning her back on him.

She had come home last night, after talking to Blaise, determined to confront Draco, to ask if he'd really known that Blaise was alive, if he'd helped him. But she'd found him sitting there in the dark, alone and upset, and when she heard what Lillian Moon was trying to do, all the anger, all thoughts of Blaise at all, had rushed out of her.

Her thoughts were consumed with Will, with figuring out a way to keep him. Draco, she could not think about. She was still angry at him, but she was willing to bury that, determined, actually, to bury that. Because if they were going to fight for Will, that had to be her focus. And she and Draco needed to be together on that.

She heard Draco stir, and begin to get up. Ginny shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep, as he rose from the bed and went out into the bathroom.

If she was honest with herself, this news about Will left her feeling a little guilty for being angry at Draco at all. A part of her felt she deserved to be angry; he had lied to her about something huge, someone she cared about. _But then_, a little voice inside her head said, _you didn't tell him about Blaise either. You didn't tell him you knew Blaise was alive. You kept sneaking off to see him. Without telling Draco._

There it was. That was why she felt guilty. In the wake of the horrible possibility that they could lose Will, sneaking off to see Blaise seemed awful and insignificant, it seemed selfish and stupid. She had a family here, one she'd worked hard for, one she loved, and she'd risked it all, by keeping Blaise a secret. The fact that Draco had kept him a secret first seemed unimportant, compared to that.

When Draco came back into the room, she opened her eyes, and looked at him, just as he glanced down at her. "Morning," she said quietly, her voice sleepy, even though she'd been awake for some time.

"Morning." He crossed the room to his wardrobe.

Ginny rolled over onto her back, and watched him as he pulled out his clothes. "I'm going to pick up Will from Shell Cottage," she said. "First thing."

And she did. She left the townhouse shortly after Draco left for work, and Apparated straight to Shell Cottage. She didn't say anything to Fleur about Lillian's filing for custody, and if Ginny seemed a little overenthusiastic, a little overemotional, in greeting Will, well, she hadn't seen him since she'd been to the hospital after her fall from the broom.

They had barely arrived home, back at the townhouse, when the doorbell rang. Ginny left Will in Nuly's care, up in the parlor, and went down to answer the door herself. After some argument, she and Draco had elected not to cast Muggle-Repelling charms on the townhouse, so it was conceivable that a Muggle could come to the door. Therefore, the house-elves never answered the door, though they did sometimes come to let Ginny know who was there, if they were closer.

Ginny glanced out through the door's peephole before answering. When she saw who it was, she swallowed a curse and took a moment to regain control of herself before opening the door.

Lillian Moon stood there, three steps below the small porch.

Ginny stepped outside and quickly shut the door behind her. She crossed her arms over her chest and said, without greeting, "What do you want?"

Lillian Moon did not bother to greet her either. "By now, assuming your husband has gone to work, he will have received notice that I am filing for custody of my grandson."

Ginny supposed that Lillian had intended to shock her with this statement, but Ginny, of course, was not surprised. She didn't allow herself any reaction at all. Instead, she merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for Lillian to continue.

A flicker of annoyance went through Lillian's cold eyes. "You don't seem surprised."

"No, merely unconcerned," Ginny said coolly. "Was there something else?"

"Yes." Shifting her handbag over her wrist, Lillian came up another step. "I have come to warn you, Miss Weasley, not to interfere."

"Not to interfere?" Ginny laughed derisively. "First of all, I have married Draco, as you well know, which makes me a Malfoy. Which means, secondly, that this is my affair as much as his. Legally, Will is my stepson."

"And both legally and biologically, he is _my_ grandson," Lillian Moon said dismissively. "Which is a higher claim than any you can make on him, _Miss Weasley_. I am sorry—" And she smiled, displaying her white, even teeth "—but I am afraid you will never be anything more than a Weasley to me."

Ginny grit her teeth, but didn't rise to the intended insult. Lillian's meaning was plain: She did not recognize any tie, legal or not, that Ginny had to Will. "If you expect me not to help Draco fight this—"

"Oh, no, that isn't what I meant at all," Lillian said lightly. "What I meant was—let's see, how shall I put this? If you intend to—what is the phrase they use?—_fight dirty_—then be prepared, for I will too."

Ginny studied her for a moment, trying to decipher this. Finally, she said, "I don't know what you mean."

"You have some powerful connections, Miss Weasley," Lillian said coolly. In spite of this admission, she didn't seem the least bit worried or annoyed. "You are a friend to the Minister of Magic. Indeed, you have many friends in the Ministry. And your family, well—they made it clear how they feel at your party, didn't they? Imagine them, standing up to me—standing between me and my grandson! The nerve," she added, though she didn't sound at all upset. Only amused, if anything.

"What's your point?" Ginny demanded, nonplussed.

"My _point_," Lillian said, any trace of amusement gone from her voice, "is that you had better not stoop to trying to use any of those connections. This fight is between Draco and myself. If you wish to help him, on your own behalf, well, you are his wife, I cannot begrudge you that. But if you try to use anyone else to fight for you, to help you, well, then, I will be forced to play on my own connections. Or rather, my own information."

A chill ran through Ginny. "What information?"

"Oh, there are all sorts of dark things hidden in your closets, aren't there, Miss Weasley?" Lillian asked, smiling up at her. "Your closets, and Draco's. It would be only so easy to bring so _many _things to light."

Ginny stared at her, nearly shaking with anger now. How _dare _this woman come and threaten her, threaten Draco? "You're bluffing," Ginny said. "I don't think you know anything about us. What could you possibly—"

"You had a conversation, I understand, with Theodore Nott," Lillian said, cutting straight through Ginny. "When the Riddle House was raided. He asked you for a favor, did he not? And you saw it done, didn't you?"

Ginny felt her blood run cold. She couldn't move. She only looked at Lillian, hoping her expression was blank, utterly blank. How she could possibly know…who could've told her that…except maybe Theo himself….

"You have no proof," Ginny heard herself say. "I didn't do anything. You can't—"

"Oh, but to even bring something like that up, well." Lillian smiled again. "The Ministry would have to launch a full-scale investigation, wouldn't they? Into _your_ life, and Draco's. And then what kinds of things would they find? What would they find out about you, Miss Weasley? Only I find it curious, you see, that Theodore Nott would make such a request of you…_why _he would think you could see it done…."

Ginny suppressed a flinch. The Mark on her arm suddenly felt as though it were burning, though she knew it wasn't, not really. She resisted the urge to hide it behind her back.

"And as for Draco, well…the Aurors would seize upon a chance to investigate him, to _really _investigate him. The only reason they haven't done so far is because he has a cousin in the Auror Office who is, I am told, fond of him. And I believe she has done what she can to, shall we say, suppress any suspicions surrounding Draco."

This, Ginny knew to be true. Tonks had told Draco as much after the Riddle House had been raided, shortly before they took the manor. She had warned Draco that she could only do so much, to help him.

"And yet, there are so many things suspicious about Draco," Lillian Moon went on. "That he knew where the Death Eaters were hiding out, at the Riddle House…that he may still be in contact with his father, and other Death Eaters…why, there are probably all sorts of secrets that he is keeping. Perhaps even from _you_."

Ginny remained quite still, struggling to remain impassive; she would not allow Lillian to see the effect her words were having on Ginny.

"So you see," Lillian said. She took another step up. She was quite tall, and level with Ginny now, eye to eye. "It would be only too easy for me to bring forth any number of things that would—quite aside from taking Will from you—completely destroy your life, and Draco's."

She was so blunt about it, so unafraid. "And why should I believe you won't do any of this anyway?" she asked icily.

"Oh, I won't," Lillian Moon assured her. "So long as you keep out of it, Miss Weasley. So long as you don't go looking for any favors or help from outside. I am more than willing to allow the Ministry to settle this, fairly and legally, without resorting to any trickery. I believe I have a good case, you see, without anything I just mentioned to you. So. Do we have a deal?"

She raised her eyebrows, looking at Ginny expectantly, waiting for some answer or reaction.

Ginny swallowed. She hadn't really thought about going to anyone else for help, not yet, though she supposed she would have, had it come to that. But what was she agreeing to, really…she and Draco could fight her, fair and square, without any favors….

Draco would never, ever let this evil woman take Will from them. Not ever.

"Fine." Ginny bit the inside of her cheek. It galled her to agree on anything with this woman, but this trade was nothing, really. If anything, she was helping them, Will and Draco, having Lillian Moon agree to keep quiet about a number of things that could seriously hurt them. "Fine. I agree."

Lillian Moon reached out a lace-gloved hand to her. Stifling her rage, Ginny took it, and they shook hands.

* * *

With her new resolution to stick by Draco in order to fight for Will, Ginny had decided she had to let go of Blaise, completely. She had to forget him, what he'd done to her, the secrets he had built up between her and Draco. So she decided to go see him, one last time, to let him know that she wouldn't ever be coming back. She should have said as much last time, when she'd confronted him, but she'd stormed out of there quickly, leaving much unsaid between them.

As soon as she emerged from the tunnel and came out into the pantry, however, she knew something was wrong. She couldn't see any light peeking out through the door; instead, the acrid smell of smoke instantly choked her, filling the little pantry. Spluttering and coughing, she pushed open the pantry door and stumbled out.

The kitchen, on her right, was filled with smoke. Ginny pulled her wand out and squinted, trying to see through it all. She tripped over something as she stepped inside; the crates, against the wall, had all burst open, their contents spilling everywhere.

Ginny tried to breathe, tried to see, but the room was thick with black smoke. "Blaise?" she coughed. "Blaise!"

She wiped her eyes. Then she saw it. A body, on the far side of the room, crumpled in the corner. Still holding her wand aloft, Ginny hurried over, through the smoke, hacking and blinking. "Blaise—"

But it wasn't Blaise at all. In fact, it wasn't even a man; that was the first thing Ginny noticed. She tried to peer at the woman's face, tried to see if she recognized her, but the smoke was so thick that Ginny couldn't see.

Hastily stowing her wand away, Ginny got her hands under the woman's arms and heaved her across the kitchen, through the smoke. She didn't stop until she'd gotten her all the way into the pantry. There, she laid the woman down, wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then she took her wand out again and said, "_Lumos!_"

Her wand tip lit. Ginny bent down with it, and peered at the woman's soot-blackened face.

It was Hermione.

A sound that was half a gasp, half a cry, escaped Ginny's lips. Hermione. _Hermione? _What was she doing here! In Malfoy Manor? And where was Blaise, what had happened to him, what had happened here—

"Hermione!" Ginny took hold of her by the shoulder and shook her. "Hermione!"

Hermione didn't stir. Ginny swallowed, staring at her. She hadn't seen Hermione in _years_, though she had received letters from her, just stating that she was okay, that Ginny mustn't come looking for her. She had judged by those letters that Hermione was in hiding somewhere far off, yet she was _here_, in Malfoy Manor. Where Blaise had been hiding. Where Ginny had _lived_. What was she doing here?

Just then, a surge of shouting reached her ears. Ginny gasped and looked up, squinting through the crack in the pantry door. Someone was coming, a lot of people, by the sound of it. Either the people who had…attacked the kitchen…because that seemed a likely explanation…or Ministry officials, somehow alerted to something in the manor.

Either way, Ginny had to get the both of them out of there. "Hermione!" she whispered frantically. Pointing her wand at the woman, she said, "_Rennervate!_"

Coughing and gasping for breath, Hermione stirred. She blinked blearily, her eyes watering with the smoke covering her face. "Wh—what?" She looked blankly up at Ginny.

"Just hold on tight to me," Ginny instructed. "Okay? Do you understand? I'm going to Apparate."

Thankfully, this must have penetrated through Hermione's hazy state, because she wrapped an arm around Ginny's own arm, squeezing on tightly. Ginny stood, half-dragging Hermione with her; Hermione didn't seem able to stand on her own two feet. Ginny turned on the spot, and the dark, smoky pantry disappeared.

They re-appeared in the alley a block down from the townhouse. Ginny had only thought of home, but now she wondered if she shouldn't have taken Hermione somewhere else. The Burrow, or maybe even St. Mungo's. Because now they had to walk out onto the street in the middle of the day, and Hermione could barely walk, and was covered in smoke.

"Hermione," Ginny said urgently. "Hermione, can you hear me?"

To Ginny's intense relief, Hermione coughed and stirred. Ginny had thought that Apparating might cause her to completely pass out again, but she was still awake, even more so than before, it seemed. She let go of Ginny's arm and stumbled a little, over to the wall of the alley, and leaned against it. She looked round at Ginny with wide, frantic eyes. "Gin—Ginny," she gasped. "How did you—where—"

"We're just a block down from my house," Ginny said, looking at her in concern. "Can you walk down there? It's not far, not five minutes, I promise. Maybe we should go to my mum's, or to hospital—"

"No!" Hermione let out a hacking cough. "No, I can make it, I don't want—no—just give me a—a minute." She let out another cough and gasped in the clean air.

Ginny hastily removed her cardigan. She wiped Hermione's face and hair mostly clean with the inside of it, and then helped her put it on, over the rest of her clothes. Now she looked mostly clean, though still somewhat like a homeless vagabond. Together, they set out into the street, Ginny supporting Hermione as inconspicuously as possible. They only passed one other person on their side of the street, and the middle-aged woman simply shot them a quick glance and then kept on walking.

It felt like forever before they reached the townhouse. Once they were inside and the door shut behind them, Ginny shouted for Nuly and Tasher. Nuly came scurrying in from the sitting room immediately, and Tasher appeared a few minutes later, from upstairs.

Ginny had about a million questions for Hermione, but she stifled her curiosity, her concern. She had to see to Hermione first. She helped Hermione into the sitting room—she would have preferred to get her into a bed, but thought it best not to try the stairs yet—so they settled her on the long, comfortable sofa in the sitting room.

As Nuly set to helping Hermione get settled, propping her up with pillows and a blanket, Ginny went to get a wet cloth and towel. When she came back, Hermione looked comfortable though weary, blinking in the daylight streaming in through the long windows facing the garden out back.

"I can shut them, if the light's bothering you," Ginny said, half-raising her wand to do so.

"No," Hermione said quickly. "No, I've—had precious little daylight lately," she said, giving a weak little laugh.

Tasher came in with a tray laden with tomato soup, hot rolls with butter, three different kinds of sandwiches, a goblet of pumpkin juice, and a glass of water. Ginny marveled that he'd gotten all that together so fast. He set it on the small table beside the sofa, while Ginny sat beside Hermione with her wet cloth.

"Here," she said. She started to reach out, to clean Hermione's face, but Hermione seemed much more alert and awake than she had before. "Or, well—if you—"

"I can do it," Hermione said ruefully, taking the wet cloth from her. She ran it over her face, and then through her hair. "Ugh. I'll need a proper bath."

"Hermione—" Ginny shook her head. "I don't understand. What were you doing in Malfoy Manor? What—what are you doing _here? _I mean—I thought—"

Hermione put the wet cloth down abruptly. Her expression was one of such consternation that Ginny immediately felt sorry for even asking any questions. "Ginny, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she said in a rush. "I've—I know it's been ages, and my letters said absolutely nothing. I—well, like I wrote to you, I just…had to get away for a while." She swallowed visibly. "After what happened—at the Ministry—"

A flash of pain went through Ginny. She hardly ever thought of Ron anymore, not because she didn't love him or miss him, but because she had so convinced herself that he was still alive, that he was out there, somewhere, probably with Harry by now. "Do you—I mean—" she started to say, but Hermione went on before she could get the question out.

"But I haven't just been—I mean, I've been looking for Harry," Hermione said earnestly. "For over a year now, I've been trying to find him, and still trying to—well, to do what Dumbledore had left us to do. That's—erm—well, that's why I've come back here, really. To the wizarding world, I mean."

"But no one knows you're here?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No, and Ginny, that's why—that's why I didn't want to go to the Burrow, or—or anywhere else, really. I haven't—I didn't want anyone to know I was back, not until—I mean, it would just be t-too hard. I wanted to find Harry first, I guess, and maybe—maybe—"

"Miss Ginny." Nuly came hurrying back into the room from the entrance hall. "Miss Ginny, Master Malfoy is Flooing for you, Miss Ginny. In the fire in the parlor, Miss Ginny."

"Oh." Ginny frowned, tossing a glance at Hermione. She wondered how much Hermione knew about her life, if she'd heard, at all, about her and Draco. Hermione's eyes had gone wide at the mention of Malfoy, and Ginny quickly said, "Oh, don't worry, Hermione, I won't tell him you're here, I promise." She jumped to her feet.

"Oh, well, okay—but, Ginny—"

Ginny hurried out of the room and upstairs, to the parlor on the first floor. Draco's head was in the fireplace, lit all around by green flames. "There you are," he said crossly, as she crouched on the floor in front of him. "Look, I'm coming home early, I'll be there soon. Do I need to pick Will up from some place?"

"Oh." Draco usually Flooed before he left to see if he needed to pick up Will, as Ginny, Fleur, and Diana were constantly dropping their children off with each other, when one had to run errands or had an appointment during the day. But she hadn't expected him so early; it was not even four o'clock yet. "Erm—yes, he's at the Burrow—but what are you coming home early for?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too desperate.

"There was some kind of breach at the manor," he said, sounding cross. It was odd; she thought he sounded like he was trying to make it out to be no big deal, but his forehead was wrinkled with concern. "Actually, it looks like someone attacked the place, apparently. I had to answer some questions…anyway, there's no point me staying here any longer, I just thought I'd come home."

"Oh," Ginny said awkwardly. "Well—okay. But—"

"I'll stop by the Burrow and then I'll be home. See you."

With that, he disappeared from the fireplace, and the flames died down. Ginny stared at the empty grate in consternation. She didn't want to move Hermione now, she could not see moving her. Maybe Hermione wouldn't mind if Draco knew she was here. It wasn't as though Draco would tell anyone, not if she asked him not to.

As she got to her feet and went back downstairs, she realized why Draco had seemed so distracted, and she felt an idiot for not putting it together before. Draco knew Blaise was staying at the manor, if Blaise was to be believed. And if the manor had been breached, attacked, then he must have suspected it had something to do with Blaise.

And _had_ it? Hermione had not yet told her what she had been doing there, what had happened, at the manor. Had Blaise been there? Had he been attacked, maybe taken, by Death Eaters? She had no idea. She still didn't even fully understand what connection Blaise _had _with the Death Eaters—if he was one himself, or if he really had been hiding out from them. None of it made any sense.

"Draco's coming home," Ginny announced, as she came back into the sitting room. "In about five minutes. Apparently, they told him about the breach at the manor, they had to question him. Hermione, I know you said you don't want anyone to know you're here, but I think—"

"Oh, it's—it's all right, Ginny," Hermione said. For some reason, she had gone a little pink. "Draco knowing I'm here, I mean."

"Good," Ginny said quickly. "Because it's just easier if you stay here, only there's no time, he'll be home any minute—oh, damn," she said, another wave of realization hitting her. Too much had happened in the last half an hour, she couldn't _think _straight.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Hermione, look—" Ginny crossed to the sofa and sat down opposite Hermione. "Listen, I—I don't want Malfoy to know I found you at the manor. Okay?"

"Erm—okay," Hermione said, looking a bit uneasy. "But, Ginny—he'll know—because—"

"I suppose you can tell him you were at the manor," Ginny said, thinking quickly, "if that's easier, but, just tell him that you Apparated here, okay? You can tell him you knew where we lived, it's been in the papers, so it wouldn't be that hard—"

"But, Ginny," Hermione interrupted, "why don't you want him to know you were there?" Then, before Ginny could answer, her brown eyes narrowed. "Is this about Blaise Zabini? You were there to see him again, weren't you?"

Ginny's jaw dropped. "I—but—how—" She felt as though her heart had stopped, for a moment. How did she know—?

Just then, the sound of the front door opening floated in through the open sitting room doors, and Draco called, "Ginny? Where are you?"

Trying to overcome this latest shock, Ginny shot Hermione a quick, panicked look, and said, "Just don't tell him, _please_." She hurried to her feet and darted out into the entrance hall, before Draco could come in.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**  
I thought the end was a bit awkward, but this chapter and the next were originally one, only they had to be split, and there really was no other place to split them. I'll try to get the next chapter up by the end of the week! It's written, I just have to find the time to proofread it :)


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Draco came into the townhouse, holding Will by the hand, and filled with anxiety. He wanted to get to the manor, to figure out what was really going on there, but the place was swarming with Aurors now; there was no way he could get there. The Aurors that questioned him had been no help; they had been more concerned with asking _him _questions, rather than getting his own answered.

By the sound of it, someone had attacked the place—likely Death Eaters. But why? Had they known Blaise was there? Had they known Granger was there? What had happened to the both of them? He thought he would've heard if the Ministry had found them there—so had they gotten out? Had they been killed, taken? Granger might not have even been there, Draco hoped she hadn't—

He was just about to cross into the sitting room when Ginny suddenly appeared in the doorway. She looked a little strange—sort of flushed, her hair askew.

"Draco—erm—there's someone here," she said. Draco shot her a puzzled look, really only just registering her words as he stepped around her, still towing Will along, and came into the sitting room.

That's when he saw who was there. Granger, sitting propped up on their sofa by many pillows, looking tired and wan and not entirely clean. Her hair was a tangled mess. Draco stopped short, staring at her. She looked back at him, looking a little resigned. She was here. Granger was _here_. Of course she would bloody come here, after the manor was attacked. Only she hadn't ever done anything but come to him for help ever since he'd tracked her down.

Ginny suddenly emerged from behind him, coming around to face him head-on. Draco swallowed and, still staring at Granger, said, "Damn. So that cat's out of the bag, is it?"

Granger sighed and put her face in one of her hands.

"What?" Ginny looked between them in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Will, having spotted the newcomer, suddenly broke free of Draco's hand and darted around to the sofa, making sounds of curiosity and delight. Granger lifted her head in surprise as Will clambered onto the sofa beside her, and when she saw him, she positively beamed.

"Hello!" she said. "What's your name?"

"Will," Will said shyly. It was pretense, of course; Will was not the least bit shy, but he had learned what others found cute and precocious in him quite quickly. That was the Malfoy in him.

Ginny suddenly rounded on Draco, looking furiously suspicious. "What do you mean, the cat's out of the bag?" she demanded. "Malfoy!"

Draco gave a guilty start as he looked at her. Granger shot them a quick glance, but then turned her attention back to Will, losing herself in conversation with him while Ginny confronted Draco. _Of course_, Draco thought, _she's going to leave it all to me to explain._

"You aren't—you aren't saying you _knew_ Hermione was back?" Ginny said incredulously. "You haven't—_seen _her?"

"Actually," Draco said, not quite meeting her eyes, "she's been staying at the manor. I helped her get in there and told her she could stay there."

"She's been staying—what?" All the color had drained from Ginny's face. She looked thoroughly dismayed and overwhelmed. She looked at Granger with a confused cast to her brown eyes, as if she did not quite understand what he was telling her. "So—" Ginny shut her eyes for a moment, a line creasing her forehead. "Hang on, I need to sit down."

She walked around the sofa and crossed the room, where she settled herself into a chair at a small game table. Draco followed her, silent, like a child who had been caught breaking the rules. Ginny heaved a great sigh and glared up at him, as he stood facing her. "Sit," she said curtly, indicating the chair opposite her.

"Actually, I'd rather—"

"_Sit_," Ginny snapped.

Coughing uneasily, Draco took the chair opposite her.

"So Hermione's been hiding out at the manor," Ginny said, rubbing a hand over her forehead, "for how long, exactly? And why?" Without giving Draco a chance to answer, she looked over at Hermione. "Why would you come to this prat for help?" she demanded.

"Oi!" Draco muttered quietly. Prat indeed.

"Oh—" Hermione looked up with that same, guilty expression. Will looked around to send his mother an indignant expression, as if to say, _We were talking here!_"I didn't—I mean—"

"She didn't come to me, I found her," Draco said loudly. "I tracked her using the post, from the letters she'd sent you. You see, I think your brother Ron is still alive, and I told Granger I'd help her find him." He winced, wondering if the direct approach was really the best way to go. Well, it was certainly the least painless, for him.

Ginny looked dumbstruck. Slowly, she sank forward, dropping her head into her hands. "It's been a long week," she whispered.

"Ginny—" Draco started.

Ginny held a hand out to forestall him, not lifting her head. Draco exchanged a quick glance with Granger, who looked a little concerned. Draco wouldn't have shown it, but he was a little concerned, too. He knew that Ginny would be surprised by this, of course, not to mention a little angry, but—

Suddenly, her head snapped up to look at him. "What do you know?" she demanded. "About Ron? Why _now_ do you think he's alive? Only, you said before that they'd probably taken him, that he wouldn't last long—" She looked aside and caught side of Granger's stricken face. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—but you _did _say that," she said accusingly, swiveling back around to look at Draco. "So why now—"

"Because of a bloody note I found in the Riddle House, all right?" he interrupted, Quickly, he explained to her what he had already told Granger, about the note, and the vial of memories from Snape. "…and it's not much to go on," he finally finished, "but I'm hoping to get in to talk to my aunt Bellatrix in Azkaban, to see if I can get some information out of her."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, apparently absorbing all of this. Draco couldn't tell a thing by her expression; it was impossible to know what was going on in her head. Then, after a few moments' silence, she looked up at Granger and said, "I'm…glad. That you believe he's alive now." She sounded tentative.

Granger sighed wearily. "I don't know what to believe," she admitted, "but it's the first time we've had any proof that he _was_alive, in the place where the Death Eaters were keeping people. And if he was able to respond to that note, then he must have at least escaped for a little while." She was obviously trying to hide the hope in her voice, but Draco could hear it, and he was sure Ginny could, too.

Ginny looked suddenly at Draco then. Her expression was still unfathomable, her eyes unreadable. But she said, very simply, "Thank you. For doing this."

Draco blinked. "I—well—I owed Granger," he said lamely.

Ginny shot him a very dubious look that clearly said she saw straight through him. And, if Draco was willing to admit it to himself, this didn't have much to do with Granger, in the end. The note he'd found hadn't so much as made him believe that Ron Weasley was alive, as it had reminded him of Ginny's presumed-dead brother to begin with. And it had got him thinking…that this was something he could do for her…not for Granger, but for Ginny.

"So…" Ginny shook herself a little. "How long have you been in the manor then, Hermione?"

"Never mind that," Draco cut in. He got to his feet and looked at Granger expectantly. "What _happened _at the manor? Today?"

"Oh!" Granger's eyes widened. "Well…erm—" She shot Ginny a quick look, and Draco thought he knew why. Of course…it was likely Blaise had been in the manor as well, when it was attacked. And Granger had realized, he thought (he hoped) that Ginny didn't know that Blaise was there.

"Someone attacked the place?" Draco prompted, trying to nudge Granger in the right direction. "Looking for you?"

"But how could they have known she was there?" Ginny asked sharply.

"I really don't know," Granger said helplessly. "They came in through the tunnel, just as we had—I don't suppose there was any other way in. They were Death Eaters, I'm almost certain, though I didn't get that good a look at them. They shot some kind of curse into the kitchen, and all this smoke went up, and, well—I hid," she said in a small voice.

"You _hid?_" Ginny looked disbelieving.

Draco snorted. "Of course she did. Only smart thing to do."

"I—well, I did think it was prudent," Granger said, throwing Draco a disgruntled look that plainly said she did not like agreeing with him. "Because, I—well—" She hesitated, looking between Draco and Ginny again. She seemed a little exasperated. "Well, I don't think they were looking for me," she said pointedly. "I think they were after…something else."

"Something else," Ginny repeated flatly.

"Yes," Granger said firmly. She wouldn't look at Ginny. Instead, she very clearly met Draco's eyes. "Because they never really came after me. Instead, they—er—had a good poke around, and then, well, they left," she finished lamely.

Draco understood exactly what she meant, even if Ginny didn't. They weren't after her. They came looking for Blaise. And though she hadn't so, not explicitly, Draco took it that they had found him, and taken him. This was so bloody awkward, with Ginny there, he thought. Hopefully, he'd get a chance to talk to Granger on his own later, and hear the full story.

"Hmm," was all Ginny said. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking vaguely concerned.

Granger looked at her, and then at Draco. Then, dropping her gaze, she rolled her eyes and muttered, so quietly he almost didn't hear her, "The pair of you, _honestly_."

"Well." Ginny got to her feet, and ran a hand through her hair uncertainly. "I suppose we should get you into a room upstairs, Hermione. That way you can bathe and get changed, and get some rest—"

"Oh—but—" Granger hesitated. "If you think—I mean—"

"Where else are you going to go, you barmy twat," Draco drawled. "Only, I assume you still don't want anyone knowing you're around?"

"No, I don't—I just meant—I don't want to impose," she mumbled.

"You wouldn't be!" Ginny declared, looking surprised that Granger would even say this. "Hermione, of course you should stay here. You can stay on the top floor, in case anyone comes over, but really, we don't have much company ever—"

"Because no one likes us," Draco supplied.

"Because no one likes _you_," Ginny snapped. "Really, I promise it'll be fine," she said to Hermione. "Please stay."

But Granger had a peculiar look on her face, almost a smile, though she looked a little puzzled. She glanced between Draco and Ginny as though she knew something they didn't. "I still can't quite believe it," she admitted. "I mean, Malfoy told me about you two—that you were—"

"What _did_you tell her about us?" Ginny demanded, rounding on him.

"Just that you're living together," Hermione said, "and, well—"

"Not just living together anymore, Granger," Draco interrupted. He held up his left hand, displaying the golden band on his finger. "We're married now."

"What?" Granger yelped. Her eyes were as wide as hen's eggs. "You can't be serious! You got _married?_ How _could _you?" she demanded of Ginny, looking astonished.

"Very easily," Ginny said flatly. Draco scowled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny, I didn't mean—it's just—_Malfoy_." She shook her head, looking incredulous. Then she looked up suddenly, looking at Draco with a slightly smug look in her eye. "So—er—things have quite changed since the last time we spoke then, haven't they?" She sounded as though she were trying not to laugh.

"Like I said before," Draco said, nonplussed, "it's none of your business."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny demanded. "Malfoy, what did you tell her about us?"

"Well, if you don't mind," Granger cut in, "I wouldn't mind that bath now."

"Fine," Ginny said crossly, "but you had better tell me everything, Hermione, I swear!"

* * *

But when Hermione had bathed, changed, and gotten comfortably settled in a bedroom on the third floor—"You're just down the hall from Will," Ginny had told her—she had something different to discuss with Ginny.

"I'm not going to tell you anything about Malfoy," Hermione said, "until you tell me about Blaise."

Ginny blinked, taken aback. She was sitting at the foot of the bed, opposite Hermione, who was propped up against the headboard. "What about him?" she asked, squirming uneasily. Suddenly, she remembered what Hermione had told them downstairs. "It's you that should be telling me about him! What happened really, Hermione? The Death Eaters were after him?"

"Yes." Hermione met her eyes head-on. "Ginny, they took him."

Ginny felt as though her heart had plummeted straight into her stomach. "Are—are you sure?" She was surprised to hear how small her voice came out.

Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, and she actually sounded it, very much so. "I didn't realize until it was too late. We both hid, you see—Zabini heard them coming and said we should hide. And I did, and I didn't see—either he wasn't fast enough, or they rooted him out. Like I said, I'm pretty sure they were looking for him. I don't think they could have known I was there, too, or they would have looked for me."

Ginny didn't say anything for a moment, thinking this through. She suddenly felt awful for the way she'd left things with Blaise, not least of all because this had to mean, didn't it, that he wasn't a Death Eater after all? Or why would they have come after him like that?

"Lucius Malfoy," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"How could they have known where that tunnel was?" Ginny pointed out. "Only Lucius would have known, probably. I bet he told them." She still didn't know how he'd known Blaise was there, but it made sense, otherwise—Lucius, after all, was the one who had told her—who had _lied _to her—who had said that Blaise was a Death Eater.

Still, he hadn't been lying about everything, had he? Only, Blaise had all but admitted that the other things were true, that it had been him who'd come to see her, who had been using her Mark. Hadn't he?

"How did you know?" Ginny said, looking up quickly. "That I'd been to see Blaise?"

"I was there, once," Hermione said, bemused. "It was the second time you came by, I think. Blaise told me, that you'd been there once before, at that point. You didn't say much—just brought him some papers and some food—"

"Is that why he didn't say anything?" Ginny demanded. "You were _there? _What, with a Disillusionment Charm?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't look the least bit apologetic. "And I know you went to see him after that, too, only I was never there. But Zabini told me, I made him tell me. And it's no good looking at me like that," she went on, for Ginny was feeling, and likely looking, quite reproachful. "Like it was none of my business."

"It wasn't," Ginny muttered.

"Ginny, why haven't you told Malfoy that you knew he was hiding Blaise? You do know that, don't you? You didn't think Blaise was there without his knowing? He'd been staying there before me, Malfoy had showed him in."

"I know," Ginny said miserably. "I didn't know at first—I just found out about a week ago. I'd gone to see Blaise, and he—he told me."

"And you didn't talk to Malfoy about it?"

"I was going to," Ginny said, subdued, "but when I came home, I—" She swallowed, looking up at Hermione, feeling wretched. "Carina Moon's mother—Lillian Moon—she's filing for full custody of Will. She wants to take him away from us."

"What?" Hermione looked scandalized. "But she's evil! Carina told me once—Ginny, you can't let that happen!"

"We won't," Ginny said sharply. "But, well, when I came home that night, Draco had just found out, and he told me, and he—he was upset." She shrugged, looking down into her lap. "And I was too, and I knew we had to be together on this, to keep Will, so…so I just didn't say anything. About Blaise."

Hermione looked a little exasperated. "Well, I understand, I suppose, but Ginny—this is just so ridiculous! I mean, me, downstairs, trying to keep my story straight, because Draco knows about Blaise and thinks that you don't, and because _you_ know that _he _knows, but you don't want him to know that you know that he knows—"

"All right," Ginny cut in, put out. "I know, it's right twisted. But it's just going to have to wait," she said firmly. "Will is more important."

Hermione smiled then, settling back more comfortably into her pillows. "Oh, Ginny, tell me about him," she said, her eyes shining. "Tell me _everything_."

Ginny smiled tentatively. Will was a topic she could go on about for hours.

* * *

Draco shivered as he walked down the dank, dark corridor in Azkaban, accompanied by five guards—five human guards. There were no longer Dementors in Azkaban, and there hadn't been for a long time. When Draco had served his sentence in Azkaban, it had been without Dementors. But it was still a dark, cold, hopeless place, and Draco did not like being back here. He had lived here for three years. It was a miracle he didn't recognize any of the guards accompanying him. That would have been rather awkward.

There were other precautions taken now, of course—Draco was pretty sure they had security trolls somewhere now—but, for the most part, the guards were human. Four of the five guards accompanying him were to wait outside in the corridor while he spoke with his aunt. The other would accompany him in.

Draco didn't know if she was expecting him. He didn't told if she'd been told he was coming. He half-hoped that she didn't know. It might make it easier for him, if she was taken by surprise.

But when they reached her cell, and unlocked the door to let Draco in, he could tell that she wasn't surprised, or, if she was, then she didn't show it. She'd been chained to the wall for his visit, or perhaps she was always chained. Draco hadn't been, he'd had free roam of his cell, but then, most people would consider his aunt an infinitely more dangerous person than he was.

"Well, well," Bellatrix said, twisting around to see him. "If it isn't my dear nephew Draco." Her half-whispered voice lingered over his name in a way that made him shiver. Her dark eyes, sunken in her pale, wasted face, latched onto him in a way that made it perfectly clear that she would love nothing more than to kill him.

When Draco spoke, he forced his voice to remain steady. "Hello, Bellatrix."

The guard closed the door behind them, and then leaned against the wall. They would be afforded no privacy, but Draco didn't need it. He wasn't here about anything he didn't want the Ministry to know about.

"And how is your dear old dad?" Bellatrix asked, her cruel eyes glittering in the darkness. "He managed to slither out of capture once again, I noticed."

"Only because he's not stupid enough to get caught," Draco countered. He enjoyed the look of consternation on her face for a moment before he said, "But it's no good asking me how he is. I haven't seen him. He's not even in the country, so far as I know."

He saw her eyes flicker towards the guard, and he knew she didn't believe him. But it didn't matter if she believed him or not. That had nothing to do with why he was here.

He had thought it over, again and again, how he might get any answers out of her. It simply wasn't very likely that she would give him any information. He couldn't bargain with her, not with the guard there, and he wouldn't even if it were possible. In the end, he'd decided to simply be direct about it. Maybe catch her off-guard.

"So tell me," he said to her, without a moment's hesitation, "how angry were you when you realized Ron Weasley had escaped you lot after the attack on the Ministry?"

Her dark eyes flashed at him. Draco experienced a surge of triumph; the instant anger he'd seen there, in her expression, was close to solid confirmation. If he got nothing else, he could leave here and tell Granger he was nearly completely certain that Weasley had escaped the Death Eaters.

"Ron Weasley?" she said after a moment's pause. She didn't even seem to have noticed she'd given herself away. But then, his aunt had never been the most stable person, and she often had little control over her raging emotions. "Which one is that? Potter's little friend?"

"You know very well he is," Draco said, in a slightly bored tone. He wanted her to think he had the upper hand; he wanted her to think he knew things she didn't. And it came to him, then, how he might press her, how he might get her to say too much. "You took him for that reason. Well, not _you_, specifically—" He thought Davis would have remembered if one of the Death Eaters she and Ron Weasley had fought was Bellatrix, and she hadn't said so, so he could be reasonably sure of this "—but that's why you wanted him. You thought he might be Potter's Secret-Keeper. You thought you'd get him to tell you where Potter is."

Bellatrix's face twisted in an ugly sneer. "I don't know what you're—"

"—talking about? We both know that's not true." Draco narrowed his eyes, his gaze intent upon his aunt. "And yes, I know. Because he's come back, you see. Ron Weasley. Alive and well." He hoped the guard at the door wouldn't react in some way, and give him away, because Ron Weasley, the best friend of Potter, was a name well-known enough that it would be big news if he actually had been found alive.

Bellatrix looked shocked and furious. "That's impossible!" she spat, but her face, he noticed, had gone ashen.

"Why? He escaped you lot well enough."

"And where is precious Potter, then?" Bellatrix countered. "Come back, too? Surely the Weasley boy wouldn't have returned without him."

Another surge of triumph went through Draco. There it was. She had confirmed it, confirmed he'd escaped the Death Eaters alive. "I haven't seen him," Draco said truthfully. "What makes you think Weasley was with Potter, anyway? Oh, right—you thought he was his Secret-Keeper."

Bellatrix stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you saying he isn't?" she demanded.

So they did take Ron for that reason. And they thought he'd gone after Potter, though they obviously didn't have any information besides that. Draco had what he needed. "Well, I wouldn't know," he said blithely. "I haven't spoken to Ron Weasley. He isn't back after all. In fact, most people think he's been dead all this time. Course, I know different now. Thanks to you." He tipped his head in a nod for her, and then, he couldn't help it—he smirked.

Bellatrix's dark, hooded eyes flashed, and her pale cheeks went red with anger. For a moment, Draco thought she was going to try to deny it, to backpedal and claim she hadn't told him anything, confirmed anything. But when she spoke, she didn't try to deny it. "You little swine," she said, her voice filled with rancor. "You filthy swine, Draco Malfoy. How far you have fallen, from the greatness you could have had with us, with the Dark Lord!"

"The Dark Lord is finished," Draco said dismissively.

"He will never be finished!" Bellatrix raved. "He may be gone, but he will return, just as before, more terrible and more powerful than ever! He will return, Draco, and you will pay for all your insolence and your treachery!"

"Actually, I'm fairly confident he isn't ever going to return," Draco drawled. He knew he shouldn't gloat, knew he shouldn't goad her, that it could be dangerous. But he wasn't thinking prudently at the moment. He was simmering with anger for this woman, for the Death Eaters, who had hunted him and hurt him, who wouldn't bloody well _leave him alone_. "You see, Potter knows how to finish him off, I think. And I've just recently brought him a step closer to doing it."

"What are you talking about?" Bellatrix demanded. Her red face was going white. "You _have _been in contact with Potter!"

"No." Draco shook his head. "But I've been in contact with Granger. You do remember Granger, don't you? I'm fairly certain she mentioned something about you torturing her several years back. About…what was it…something to do with your Gringotts' vault, wasn't it?"

Bellatrix's face was completely bloodless now. "That filthy Mudblood," she spat. "You've been talking with her? About—about—"

"You know, if you didn't want anyone looking into what was in your vault, Aunt," Draco drawled, "then you really shouldn't have made such a big fuss about it." He was enjoying himself now, all of his anger burning through him with every word. He hadn't realized how much built-up rage he'd had for this woman, stored up, just waiting to be unleashed.

"As it is," Draco went on, "between Granger's word and Blaise Zabini's, it was easy to work out that you were obviously keeping something very important in your vault. Something important to the Dark Lord, even. I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure of its significance myself, but Granger was _very _interested to get into your vault."

"How dare you!" Bellatrix raged. She lunged forward, as though to grab him around the neck, but she couldn't, not chained to the wall as she was. Draco thought he saw the guard behind him twitch; Draco had nearly forgotten he was there. But he didn't care. He couldn't stop. He didn't care who heard what; now that he had begun, he had to get it all out. He wanted to hurt Bellatrix, to hurt her like she'd hurt him, to prove to her just how far he'd gone against her.

"I'm almost surprised you didn't know," Draco said, his voice taunting, "but then, Azkaban prisoners don't have any rights to their Gringotts' vaults, do they? So there'd be no reason to tell you."

"To tell me _what?_"

"Why, that I was allowed into your vault, of course." Fueled by his own fury, Draco actually took a step forward. He wanted to look her in the eyes, to be as close to her as he could when she heard this. "My solicitor found me a way in just yesterday," Draco snarled. "And I took it. Your precious little treasure, the very thing the Dark Lord had entrusted you with. I'll be handing it off to Granger, and she's going to see that Potter gets it."

"Nooo!" Bellatrix screamed. She strained forward against her chains like a rabid dog, her fingers like claws, desperate to get at him. The guard behind Draco came forward now, so that he was almost level with Draco, but neither he nor Bellatrix took any notice of the guard. She was too crazed to see anything except Draco, and Draco was too caught up in his own triumph, his own anger, to back down from his aunt. He stood his ground, staring back at her with full contempt. He wasn't done yet.

"There's more, too," Draco spat at her. "I don't know if you get any news from your Death Eater pals out there in the world—you know, the ones who weren't so stupid as to get caught—"

Bellatrix snarled wordlessly at him.

"—but they went after our old friend Blaise recently—you did hear me mention him, didn't you?" Draco went on ruthlessly. "He'd run off from you lot, and, well, they caught up to him and took him. But it was bloody pointless of them, wasn't it? Because if he did know anything about what was in your vault—which he never did, you know—that's all lost now anyway, isn't it?"

"Then at last he'll be killed!" Bellatrix burst out. "At last we can be done with him!"

Draco ignored her. "The funny thing is, Blaise wasn't hiding out by himself, you know. Granger—you know, the one who's got what I took from you—was hiding with him, too. Only the Death Eaters didn't know that. How angry does that make you, Bellatrix? The very person who's going to help Potter take down the Dark Lord—within your grasp, _right bloody there_. And your pals were too fixated on Zabini, a nonentity, to notice."

"You impetuous little fool, Draco," Bellatrix hissed. She hadn't calmed down by any sight, though her useless attempts to break free had slowed, and she had clearly regained her use of human speech. "If the Dark Lord doesn't teach you what happens to filthy traitors like you, then I'll personally see to it myself!"

"You can't touch me," Draco taunted. "I'm not afraid of you."

"And what about your lovely blood traitor wife?" Bellatrix sneered. "_That _news I have heard of, Draco, oh, yes. What would you do if I hurt her?"

Draco shrugged. "I'd like to see you try. Ginny's more capable of taking care of herself than I am."

"And your son?" Bellatrix's dark eyes gleamed with cruelty. "How capable is _he _of protecting himself? Your precious, itty bitty baby son." She laughed suddenly, a twisted laugh, full of malice.

Draco felt as though she'd stabbed a knife in his gut. Black dread pooled in the wound, spreading like wildfire throughout his body. All that anger he'd been riding out, coursing through him like a rapturous drug, seeped out of him, evaporated in the few seconds it took her to say those words. He suddenly felt the world's biggest fool, the very fool she had been calling him.

He reacted in the first way he thought of, and the first thing he thought of was his father's words. _If you let him go…if you made it clear, in public, that it meant nothing to you—if you could do that—then you could save him, Draco. You could protect him. Because the Death Eaters, and anyone else, would have no reason to come after him, if they thought he meant nothing to you._

"If you want to waste your time going after a baby, be my guest," Draco growled. "As it is, he may not be my problem much longer. It'll certainly make my life easier."

He was surprised at how easy it was to say—because it _was_easy, to say anything, to say whatever he had to, to protect Will. He didn't mean it—not a word—he was not considering, even for a second, handing Will over to Lillian Moon. But Bellatrix needn't know that.

She looked genuinely taken aback. "What do you mean, he won't be your problem much longer?"

Draco shrugged. "Someone else is interested in taking the kid. Personally, I'm happy enough about it. Did you actually think I was interested in running after a child for the rest of my life? If his mother were still alive, well, that would be one thing, but she went off and died, didn't she. Leaving me to handle him on my own."

"You have the Weasley girl raising him," Bellatrix said, sounding skeptical.

"Yeah, well, he's not her son either, and being that the novelty of a cute little baby has worn off…" Draco gave another shrug, trying to look as though he were bored by this entire conversation. It was ridiculous to him, to think that anyone would believe this, but if anyone might, it was his aunt. She had never had children, and if she had, her only interest in them would have to been to hand them over to the Dark Lord, to use however he pleased.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him. "You are lying," she said finally, after a dubious pause. "You're trying to keep me from going after him."

"Believe what you want," Draco said indifferently. He took a step back. Whereas ten minutes ago he had been elated to stay, eager to see his aunt's reaction to his news, he now wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, before he made himself sick with this act. He wanted nothing more than to get out, go home, and see his son. "As it is, I'm telling you—I have nothing to lose."

He left then, the guard coming out behind him. Outside in the dark, narrow corridor, the guards immediately started down the hallway, but Draco only made it a few steps before he stopped and reached for the wall. He leaned against it heavily, swallowing, trying to contain his shaking. He didn't know what scared him more—his aunt's threats to his son's life, or his own pretense that he cared nothing for him.

Draco had taken that morning off work, to go visit Bellatrix at the appointed time he'd been given, but after stopping off at home for lunch, he went in to the office and stayed quite late. Not only was he behind because of his morning off, but all his work had taken him much longer today than it should have, mostly because he was distracted. When his aunt's threats weren't running through his mind, his father's words were, the words he'd spoken to Draco when they'd met a few weeks ago.

At the time, Draco had refused to consider anything his father had said. It was absurd. As though anyone would ever believe that he didn't care about Will, after all he had gone through for him before. Even if Draco was willing to give up his son—and he wasn't, point-blank, he wasn't—it was a stupid plan. It would never work.

And yet, in a desperate moment that morning, he had seized upon it. And he couldn't stop thinking that, selfish as Bellatrix herself was, she had seemed torn when he left. She had, in fact, been considering the possibility that he didn't care about Will.

Draco dropped his quill and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

_I wish that I had realized, when the Dark Lord returned, that I should have done everything in my power to keep you safe from him. That I should have sent you away—_

_If the Dark Lord doesn't teach you what happens to filthy traitors like you, then I'll personally see to it myself!_

_—that I should have, even, have shown absolutely no regard for you. Because if the Dark Lord had thought that I didn't care for you, he wouldn't have used you against me as punishment._

_And your son? How capable is he of protecting himself? Your precious, itty bitty baby son._

_I wish that you could see that…. Not only the benefits of letting the boy go, not only how much safer he could be, elsewhere…. If you let Lillian Moon take the boy—if you let him go, without a fight, if you made it clear, in public, that it meant nothing to you—_

Draco's mouth twisted bitterly. That was what it came down to, wasn't it? Lillian Moon. And he had no reason to trust her. None at all. His father had seemed to know more about her than he did…. But was he to take his father's word for it? That wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

There was a knock on his office door.

"Come in," Draco said wearily.

The door opened. And none other than Lillian Moon herself stood in his doorway.

Draco felt his hackles rise at the very sight of her. She seemed like a bad omen, coming in this moment, when he had just been thinking of her, of this mess that she had brought into his life. He stood abruptly behind his desk. "What do you want?" he demanded without greeting.

"May I come in?" she asked. She didn't wait for an answer; in fact, the words had not yet finished leaving her lips before she swept inside, shutting the door behind her. She eyed him over his desk. "Please, sit down," she said politely.

"I'm fine here," Draco said flatly.

"My, so hostile," Lillian said. Without invitation, she seated herself in the chair opposite him. "Had a bad day, have you?"

"What," Draco repeated, "do you want?"

"I should like to speak with you concerning Will," she said crisply. "You see, I think it would be better, for everyone involved, if we could settle this without a fight. Without getting the Ministry involved any more than it already is."

"That's too bad," Draco said bluntly, "because the only way that's going to happen is if you decide to drop this whole thing."

Lillian looked at him intently. Draco struggled not to squirm under that unrelenting gaze. He dropped his eyes and, in an effort to cover his own discomfort, took his seat across from her.

"I think we should at least discuss it, don't you?" she prompted. "After all, if you are really so adamant that you will not back down, then you shouldn't be afraid to at least hear me out. What harm could it do?"

She had touched a nerve, because, in fact, she had come so shockingly close to the real reason he didn't want to listen to her. Refusing to show this, refusing, even, to really admit it to himself, he nodded curtly, indicating she could say her piece.

"I understand," she began, speaking slowly, as if really thinking this through, "that my desire to raise my grandson must seem odd to you, given that I was clear, before, that I wanted nothing to do with him. However, you must understand, and I'd like to think that you could, now that you are a parent yourself—when my daughter died, I was consumed with grief for her. Her death made little sense to me. She had scarcely spoken of you, and the news of her pregnancy was a great shock to me. She had never expressed any interest in wanting any children. And then, suddenly, she was dead. _Because_ of this child, because of _your _child. At least, that is how I saw it, at the time."

Draco stared at her. Not only because of this uncharacteristic frankness, but also because, for the first time, Lillian Moon did not sound as though she were saying something she had rehearsed a million times. She was not overly emotional—she spoke with a calm, quiet dignity—but she sounded sincere.

"However," she went on, "my thoughts and feelings concerning the child changed, over time. I began to regret that I had not showed more interest in him, when Carina was pregnant with him. I began to regret that I had resolved to have nothing to do with him."

Her words echoed in Draco's head, so closely reminiscent of his father's words about Lillian, about the ways that Lucius said she had probably changed. It were as though they had decided on the sentiment together.

"And so," Lillian Moon said, taking a deep breath, "I have changed my mind. I loved my daughter, Draco, and I miss her terribly, every day. I should like to do as I think she would have wanted, and raise her son as my own."

Draco was skeptical that Carina would have wanted her mother to raise her son, though he had to admit, uneasily, that he couldn't say for sure that she would have wanted he, Draco, to raise him either. They had agreed, after all, that Draco would have nothing to do with the baby, but then, that was before Carina had died.

"Even if that's all true," he said, careful to keep his voice expressionless, "why go for full custody? What if I said you could see him whenever you want?" It was like acid on his tongue, even allowing this much, but it seemed a prudent concession, at this point.

The look Lillian sent him was derisive. "I think it is clear, judging by your past history, that the boy is not safe with you, Draco. He has been kidnapped once because of you. And I am sure that is not the only time he has been targeted, again, because of you. You have made very powerful and dangerous enemies."

Draco didn't even bother with his usual protests—that he could protect Will, that he and Ginny would see to it. He had learned that there was no point. He studied her for a moment, before he said, "I wish I could believe that all that you said was true—about Carina, about Will. But I don't, you see. And I don't think I ever will."

"Well, I can't make you believe me," Lillian said dismissively. She unclasped her handbag, reaching inside of it. For an absurd moment, Draco thought she was going to take her wand out and curse him. "And if that is how you feel, then I will just have to resort to other methods." She pulled out of her handbag an old, rolled up newspaper. Draco watched her with narrowed eyes, as she flipped through it, and then folded it over, before handing it to Draco.

Draco looked down at the headline. It was a piece reporting the death of Nott Sr., the Death Eater, Theodore Nott's father. Draco remembered reading it, years ago now. It had happened shortly after the ordeal at the Riddle House. He remembered it because it had been so odd: Nott's dead body had been _delivered _to the Auror Office. The report had indicated that perhaps Nott had been killed fleeing the Riddle House, but Draco knew this couldn't be true, because Nott Sr. had not been staying at the Riddle House.

Draco looked up at Lillian, a bit irritated. "Why are you showing me this?"

Lillian only said, coolly, "I believe you went to school with Nott's son, Theodore. Are you aware of how his mother died?"

"Yes," Draco said impatiently. "His father killed her. He was a right old maniac, from what I hear, before his health went bad on him. What's your point?"

"I, too, am familiar with the death of Theodore's mother," Lillian said calmly, ignoring his demands for an explanation. "You see, she was a friend of mine, at Hogwarts. An extraordinarily bright woman. I always wondered why she had ever gotten involved with a man like Nott."

"I'd have thought you'd approve," Draco said snidely, "him being a Death Eater and all."

"I have never cared for Death Eaters," Lillian said with distaste. "Fanatics, the lot of them. And You-Know-Who, the biggest fanatic of them all. I think he had the right idea, mind you, but he took it too far."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Even with the Dark Lord gone, it was not a prudent thing to openly criticize him.

"At any rate, I am sure you can imagine—perhaps you even know, if you were friends with him—how much Theodore has despised his father. I would go so far, even, as to say that he very much wanted him dead," Lillian said.

Draco knew this to be true. "Are you saying _he _killed his father? He can't have done, he was in Azkaban."

Again, Lillian ignored him. She met his gaze directly now. "Are you aware," she asked, "that your wife had a conversation with Theodore Nott the day that he was arrested? While you yourself were still being held captive in the Riddle House?"

Draco blinked. "Yes." Tonks had told him, that Ginny was the one who had convinced Theo to give them information on getting into the Riddle House. It hadn't surprised him. Ginny had been a good Auror, except for the fact that she wasted all her time looking for Zabini.

"I suspect, however, that you do not know the details of the conversation," Lillian Moon said. Her tone was not one of someone gloating, or holding information over his head; she was all business. "I, however, do, having heard them from Theodore Nott himself. You see, he requested a favor of your wife. He requested that his father be killed. Only with that promise from her, would he give her the information she wanted about the Riddle House."

Draco stared at her. He was seized with a mad desire to laugh. Ginny, promise to kill someone, in exchange for information? "That's ridiculous," Draco heard himself say. "Have someone killed? She wouldn't."

"And yet, he turned up dead days later," Lillian pointed out. "His body delivered to the Aurors, no less. As though the killer wanted to be sure that someone would hear of it. Whoever did it didn't want to hide the murder, obviously, yet no one claimed credit for it. He was a Death Eater, after all. If someone had killed him in self-defense, there'd be no reason to hide it."

Draco found himself growing inexplicably angry. He couldn't believe that she was actually trying to convince him of this, that she was actually trying to _blackmail _him with this. It was absurd. "Ginny didn't kill him."

"It's possible she didn't do it herself," Lillian mused, for all the world as though they were discussing Quidditch tactics. "She certainly had it done, though."

"She wouldn't do that!" Draco burst out. "Oh, sure, she might have told Theo she would, but only to get the thick clod to give her the information she wanted. She wasn't an Auror anymore, see. She didn't have any obligation to live up to promises she made him."

"Oh, you don't think so, do you?" Lillian Moon's eyes flashed, bearing down on him. "Not even for her beloved family, for you? What would _you_ do for your family, Draco? How far would you go? It's very odd, you know, a Malfoy and a Weasley coming together. I would have said it impossible, except that there is one thing the two families have in common—family means everything to the Weasleys, just as it does to you and your family. It's why you and the Weasley girl came together, is it not? For the sake of your son? Oh, I have spoken with your wife, Draco, and I don't think there's much she _wouldn't _do for her family. You might think on that, before you insist that she would never kill a man, or have him killed, either."

Draco shook his head. Of course, family was important to Ginny, just as it was to him. And he would go very far for his family. But even he, in the end, could not kill for his family. He had proven that in sixth year, when he'd failed to kill Dumbledore. Of course, Nott Sr. had been an evil man and a pitiable excuse for a human being, unlike Dumbledore…but still…to have him killed, in cold blood…

No. He wasn't considering it. He didn't believe it.

Lillian Moon must have seen that on his face, for she shrugged gracefully and said, "If you don't believe me, you can always ask Theodore for yourself. But frankly, I don't care whether you believe it or not. The fact is, if it were brought to light—that she _had _promised the death of Theo's father to him, and even you admit that she likely did—well, the Aurors would have to investigate that, wouldn't they?"

"They couldn't prove anything," Draco snapped.

"With some well-placed evidence," Lillian Moon said, her tone deliberate, "I assure you, they could.

_Well-placed evidence_…. For the first time, a thrill of fear ran through Draco. She was insinuating, of course, that it would be only too easy to frame Ginny, and Draco feared, that with her money and influence, it would be. He was well aware of how easy things were when one has money and influence.

"So, Draco," Lillian said, with a haughty toss of her head, "let's get to the point, shall we? I suppose that what I am saying is, well—you have a choice. Your son, or your wife?"

"You bitch," Draco snarled.

"My, my," Lillian Moon said coolly. She seemed wholly unthreatened by his anger. "In fact, that was cruel of me, wasn't it? Not to mention overdramatic. You do have a choice, but it's much more clear-cut than that. Your wife's freedom—her life, as it were—may be at stake here, true. But when it comes to William, the only thing at stake is your own selfish desire to keep him to yourself. Because he will be perfectly safe with me, Draco. Safer, I daresay, than he is with you."

"Do you really believe that?" Draco demanded. "Do you really understand what that means? Keeping him safe isn't just about protective spells and enchantments, it isn't about bodyguards. Ginny and I would both die for Will, if Death Eaters came knocking. Would you?"

For the first time, Lillian Moon looked angry, a gleam of it showing in her eyes. "Yes," she said coldly, firmly and without hesitation. "Do you really think I wouldn't? I lost my daughter, Draco, I am not about to lose my grandson. And what's more, do you really think I have not thought all of this through, that I have not prepared myself for the worst? I know the danger you've brought to your son. I am prepared to face that myself, if it becomes an issue, though I do not think it will be, with him in my care."

Again—even as furious as he was with her, even as much as he hated her, then, for threatening Ginny—he was struck by the sincerity, the surety, in her tone. He didn't like it. He didn't like it, because it threatened his own resolve. And her words echoed in his head—_your own selfish desire to keep him to yourself._

Against his own judgment, the insidious thought slipped through his mind. _Is that what this is? Is that what I'm doing? Being selfish?_

The thought terrified him.

"There is only one other thing, Draco," Lillian Moon said, and she was suddenly calm again, weary, even, "that I can tell you, to explain to you and convince you of my resolve to love and protect the boy. It may turn you against me even further. Or it may, as I hope, explain to you why I feel that I must care for him."

Draco looked at her wordlessly. He was so beyond his capacity to hear anything else from her, but he was also beyond his capacity to stop her.

"The day of the attack on Diagon Alley," she said, "the day that your mother was injured and put in St. Mungo's permanently. That morning, before the attack, your mother and I met for an early lunch."

Draco stared at her. "Wh-what? Why?" The mention of his mother was so unexpected, so gut-wrenching for him, that he momentarily forgot everything else they had just discussed.

"To discuss the baby, of course," Lillian said smoothly. "We women are civilized about such things. Neither of us were happy with the unexpected pregnancy, but we decided to meet and discuss how to deal with it."

That, Draco thought, sounded only too like his mother.

"We had arranged the meeting two days earlier," Lillian went on, "and, at the time, I had indicated to your mother that Carina would likely be joining us. Halfway into the first course, your mother asked when Carina would be arriving. I told her that—" Here, Lillian paused, ever so slightly, tilting her head as if in some discomfort "—most unfortunately, Carina would not be joining us after all. She had decided to do some Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley instead, you see."

Draco felt cold. He could not move, he could not breathe, he could not think. His father had always wondered, Draco knew, why his mother had been there, when she had known of the imminent attack, when she had known what was going to happen…it had driven his father mad that she had been there, when it made absolutely no sense…

"When I told your mother this—" Lillian shut her eyes briefly, looking as though she had a bad head cold "—she left immediately. Quite rudely, I thought, at the time. She made some ridiculous excuse, and Apparated as soon as she was out the front door."

Draco felt numb. He couldn't do anything but keep listening. A part of him was grateful to hear this, to finally make sense of it. Another part of him was horrified, wishing he could take it back, that he had never heard it at all.

"Of course, when I heard—" Lillian broke off. There was a distraught catch in her voice. "Well. Your mother and I had never been friends, we barely knew each other. But when I realized, you see…what she had done, for Carina…" She shook her head. "The most awful part of it is, Carina wasn't there after all. She'd been called in to work last-minute, you see. She was at St. Mungo's the whole time."

For a moment, they were both utterly silent, contemplating this horrid, awful truth. Draco thought he might cry. He thought he might be sick. He didn't know what he would do.

"And the thing is, you see," Lillian said, and her voice was hardly more than a whisper, "that is has always caused me pain. I don't mean to undercut your own grief, which, of course, must be worse than mine. But, if I had said nothing—if I had never mentioned it—"

Draco closed his eyes. He felt as though he might fly apart.

"I tell you this," Lillian said, and her voice was steady now, "because, of course, you deserve to know. I have kept it to myself for too long. But also because, you see, I am indebted to your mother."

Draco opened his eyes. "You don't owe her anything." He meant the words harshly, but they came out quite blank. "Carina wasn't there, you said so herself. She didn't save her."

"But she meant to," Lillian said simply, "at whatever cost to her own life. So, I am indebted to her, you see. I am indebted to your family. I imagine you, Draco, understand what that means. I would never—so long as I live—allow something to happen to your son within my care. Your mother risked her life for him, for my daughter—because of something _I _told her, and she essentially lost her life for it. I could hardly do less to protect Will."

* * *

It was late, near midnight. The Malfoy townhouse was dark and quiet. But Hermione was wide awake, in the shadowed parlor, curled up on a divan, a thin blanket covering her lap. She held, in her hands, the note that Snape had written to Draco, the same note that contained Ron's brief reply to Malfoy on the opposite side. She stared at it, tracing Ron's signature with her eyes, lost in her own thoughts.

The door opened and shut downstairs, pulling her back to the present. She tensed, reaching for her wand, but a moment later, Malfoy's blond head appeared at the top of the stairs, shining in the gloom. He looked startled to see her sitting there.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, though his words lacked their usual hostility. "Sitting in the dark? Do you know what time it is?"

"Do you?" Hermione said dryly. "Wherever have you been? Ginny was waiting up for you, but she finally went to bed, she'd had a long day."

Malfoy shut his eyes, leaning against the wall. "So've I," he muttered.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond pertly, but she stopped herself, looking at him. He looked more than tired, he looked…defeated. His shoulders were slumped, and when he opened his eyes, there was a dead, dull cast to them. It was rather disconcerting. He looked rather like he had near the end of sixth year.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked abruptly.

He scowled at her, but again, it lacked its usual fervor. "What's it to you?"

"I'm just asking," she huffed. "You look like you've been round the bend."

"Yeah, well, I don't need your criticism," he shot back. "Merlin, sometimes you remind me of Pansy."

Hermione spluttered. "What? That cow? I take that as an insult!"

"You do that."

"Well, sometimes, _you _remind me of Ron!" she said crossly. "But only at his most pigheaded and idiotic moments," she added, flushing in the darkness. Because, now she thought of it, it was a terribly awkward thing to say, given that she was in love with Ron, and they both knew it.

Malfoy, however, did not seem to notice. He was frowning at some distant point across the room, as he rubbed a hand at his forehead. "Oh," he said suddenly, "I almost forgot."

He reached then, into his robes, and from them, he withdrew a small, handled cup.

Hermione sat up so fast that she dropped her wand and the note both. Malfoy set the cup on the table at the end of the divan, and Hermione snatched it up, looking it over, verifying it according to the description Harry had given her. "This is it," she breathed. "I think—I think this is actually it!" It was so late, and it was so dark, and Malfoy had sprung this on her so suddenly, that she was barely processing it. A part of her thought it must all be a dream.

"You'll be leaving then," Malfoy said casually, "won't you?"

Hermione looked up at him, arching an eyebrow. "Yes. That glad to be rid of me, are you."

"Well." Malfoy coughed, suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. "The thing is, I've—done something stupid."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"I—" Malfoy hesitated. "I went to see my aunt today, at Azkaban. Bellatrix. And, well, I got her to confirm that Weasley, Ron, I mean, escaped the Riddle House alive—"

"_What?_" Hermione exclaimed in a whisper. Her heart leapt with excitement; this most definitely, absolutely, _had _to be a dream. "She did? Malfoy, that's not stupid, that's brilliant!"

"—and then," he went on, as though he had not heard her, "I couldn't help throwing it in her face. And I didn't stop there. I kept going. I told her all about how I had gotten the cup, and that I was going to give it to you, and that you would be taking it off to Potter."

All of Hermione's elation seemed to dissipate. She stared at Malfoy in dismay. "You prat," she said numbly, taking this in. "You _are _stupid."

"Yeah, well." Malfoy did not even try to argue with this, which was a miracle in itself.

"Well." Hermione sighed. She would just have to be very, very careful, that was all. The Death Eaters would be looking for her with more enthusiasm than usual. But she had a good store of Polyjuice Potion, she knew plenty of protective spells. "I guess I had better leave in the morning, then. After I've had my goodbye with Ginny and Will. I don't want to put them in any danger, after all."

"Can't put them in any more danger than they're already in, here with me," Malfoy said bitterly.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. This sort of self-loathing, this morose attitude about himself, was not like Malfoy. Suddenly, though, she thought she understood. "Is this about Lillian Moon? Trying to take Will from you?"

Malfoy looked at her sharply. "What?"

"Ginny told me," Hermione explained, "about that. And, well, I just wondered—"

"Never you mind," he groused.

"Fine," Hermione grumbled. "But, Malfoy," she said suddenly, struck by a new thought, "I _do _want to tell you, before I leave. I think you need to tell Ginny about—about Blaise. That he's alive, and that you helped him. She, well—" She hesitated. "She should hear it from you," she said carefully, trying to keep a lie out of her words.

"Why?" Malfoy snapped. "He's gone, now. Death Eaters will probably kill him and have done with him, and then he'll be dead anyway. What's the point?"

Hermione looked at him, exasperated. She didn't want to tell Malfoy herself that Ginny knew—she had promised Ginny she wouldn't. But this was a ridiculous mess that the two of them had put themselves in, and, much as she didn't care for Malfoy, she did not like to think of Ginny hurt again. She had been through too much, as it was.

"It's just," Hermione said abruptly, "that, before, when we spoke about her. She wasn't trusting you, you told me, because of something that had happened before, because of something you'd done to make her lose your trust in you. And, somehow, you've got past that, obviously."

Draco growled, "It's none of your—"

"—none of my business, I know," Hermione said dryly. "But, I can't help remarking, as a casual observer, that you are setting yourself up to lose all of that, again. Because, again, you're keeping something from her. Something she would want to know, and something she deserves to know." She looked up at him firmly. "So, mind you don't mess it up again. That's all I'm saying."

Malfoy looked down at her. There was a bitter, ironic gleam in his dead eyes. "Yeah, right," he said wryly. "Because I wouldn't want that."

* * *

Draco sat in one of the interrogation rooms in Auror Headquarters. He drummed his fingers nervously against the tabletop. He wasn't sure why they had asked him to come in—on the one hand, he had said quite a lot about many things while he'd been in Azkaban visiting his aunt, in plain hearing of the guards. None of it was anything illegal, that he'd done, but he could see the Ministry being interested in it.

On the other hand, to be called in, so recently after his father had returned to town—well, Draco couldn't help but wonder if, maybe, this had something to do with him.

Then the door to the interrogation room opened, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, walked in.

Draco stared at him, suppressing a wave of dismay. As Kingsley seated himself opposite him, Draco said, "So. Is this really the Ministry questioning me, or is this the Order?"

"If this were the Order," Kingsley said, in his deep, reassuring voice, "then we would be having this conversation elsewhere." He paused. "No, I am here in my…official capacity."

"Really," Draco said flatly. "Bit of a tall order, isn't it? The Minister of Magic questioning me about…what exactly?"

"You went to visit your aunt in Azkaban," Kingsley said, folding his hands atop the table. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

So. It was about her. Draco experienced a momentary surge of relief, but he was still tense, on his guard. "Yes," he said impatiently. "And? The Ministry knew I was going, I had to get bloody approval to go in the first place."

"During your…conversation with her," Kingsley said delicately, and Draco wondered what, exactly, the guards had told him about how their 'conversation' went, "you mentioned Hermione Granger. That you have been in contact with her."

"Yes," Draco said stiffly.

"You, apparently, legally obtained something from your aunt's vault for her," Kingsley went on. "Something important to the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Something that Miss Granger intends to take to Harry Potter."

"Well, if she can find him. She doesn't know where he is yet."

"I see." Kingsley met Draco's eyes levelly. "And I don't suppose you'd like to tell me where Miss Granger is right now? Has she been staying with you?"

"She was," Draco said dismissively. "She's gone now. She left several days ago. And no, I don't know where she was going. All I know is she was going to look for Potter, but if she had any clue where to start, she didn't tell me. And before you ask," he went on, forestalling Kingsley, "I don't know what she wanted to use it for…the thing I took from my aunt's vault. I don't know anything about it, so there's no good asking me."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "But you know what it was, obviously? You retrieved it yourself, after all."

Draco eyed him back. He wasn't sure why, but when he opened his mouth, what he said was, "I know what it was. But I can't tell you. I don't think Granger would want me spreading it around, see."

Kingsley studied him for a moment. "I see." He sighed. "So there is nothing, really, that you can tell me about any of this."

"No," Draco said. He paused. "Best leave it all to bloody Saint Potter."

Kingsley did not react to this rather childish insult to Potter. "And you also mentioned Blaise Zabini…?"

"Yes," Draco said. "He's alive, or at least, he was a few weeks ago. But Death Eaters caught up to him and took him. He could be dead now."

"I see." Kingsley took all this in stride. "And…Ron Weasley. It is clear that your aunt confirmed that he was held prisoner at the Riddle House, and that he escaped alive."

Draco held Kingsley's gaze. "Yes. She told me that."

"We will be informing the Weasley family," Kingsley said. When Draco opened his mouth to protest, Kingsley held up a hand and said, "We will not be telling them that you were involved in any way. We will merely let them know that, in questioning, Bellatrix revealed this information. They deserve to know," he said simply.

Draco jerked a nod. He suppose they did, at that.

"One last thing then," Kingsley said. He leaned forward across the table. "I understand that Bellatrix made some threats against you and your family. Specifically, against Ginny and your son."

"Ginny can handle herself," Draco said immediately.

"And your son?" Kingsley prompted quietly.

Draco felt as though someone had grabbed a hold of his insides and made a fist, twisting them around. "If you really know everything that went on in there," Draco said tightly, "then you'll know that I said that Will won't be my problem much longer."

"Yes." Kingsley's tone was flatly disapproving. "You apparently expressed some…disinterest in raising your son."

"Yeah, well." Draco shrugged. "His grandmother's interested in taking custody of him."

For a moment, Kingsley didn't say anything. Then, staring intently at Draco he said, "Draco, there are few things I couldn't believe of you. But that you don't care about your son…" He shook his head. "Never mind that. You apparently indicated that Ginny, too, was tired of taking care of him. And that I cannot believe."

"I'm not sure," Draco said angrily, "how this is any of your business."

"Draco," Kingsley said, "if you are worried about the safety of your son, we—the Ministry or the Order—can provide protection—"

"Yeah, sure!" Draco laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "Your protection? I don't want any more of your bloody protection! That's what got me into all this mess in the first place, isn't it! Playing nice with the Order, letting Ginny come in to my family, associating myself with any of you—the Death Eaters might've left me alone, if it weren't for any of that! So, thanks, but no thanks," he growled. "I've had enough of your _protection_." He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Anyway," Draco went on, with forced calm in his voice, "I've told you, haven't I? You've heard it yourself. I'm rather indifferent when it comes to anything regarding my son." He paused, and then, unable to play this act too thoroughly, he met Kingsley's eyes and said, "Don't be afraid to spread that around, either."

Kingsley met his gaze evenly, and Draco could tell that he understood. "Draco," he said, "it doesn't have to be like this."

"Are we done here?" Draco asked abruptly. "Only, I've got a lot to be about today. Can I go?"

Kingsley dipped his head in a nod. Without waiting for anything else, Draco swept out of the room.

* * *

"Ginny. Ginny, wake up."

Ginny stirred and blinked sleepily, her eyes squinting shut as she peered at the pale daylight seeping into the room through a slit in the window curtains. She looked around at Draco, who was standing beside the bed, leaning over her. He was fully dressed, though dressed casually—in jeans and a plain grey shirt. He almost never wore anything except a button-down.

"What is it?" Ginny mumbled. "Is something wrong?"

Draco shook his head. "No. But get up. I want to—we should go for a walk."

"A walk?" Ginny echoed, through a big yawn. "Why? What time is it, Malfoy?"

A flicker of annoyance passed over Draco's features. "It's seven o'clock, and will you please just get up and come with me?"

Faintly irritated, Ginny rolled out of bed. It was a Saturday. Draco waited by the door, leaning against the wall, as she got dressed, pulling on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. She waited for him to comment on her sloppy clothes, but he didn't. She looked up as she slipped on a pair of shoes. "What about Will? Is he ready?"

"He's not coming," Draco said shortly. "Pansy's with him," he clarified, when Ginny shot him a strange look. "They're having breakfast downstairs."

Too tired to question this, Ginny nodded through a yawn and followed Draco out the door.

Outside, they crossed the empty street. Across the road was a large expanse of green grass, c

vering a square, open area, like a small park. Draco took Ginny's hand and led her across the green, until they reached a shady oak tree. The sun didn't shine too brightly yet—it was still early—but it was the middle of summer, so it was already quite warm.

It wasn't until now, as they reached the tree, that Ginny began to truly wake, to emerge from the haze of sleep that lingered over her. And as she did, she realized how strange this was. Why on earth had Malfoy woken her, so early, to go for a walk in the park? He never did things like that. But as she watched, he settled down on the grass, under the shade of the tree. He sprawled back on his hands, looking quite comfortable. Except that he would not meet her eyes.

"Draco," Ginny said. She did not sit, but stood looking down at him. "What are we doing here?"

Draco fiddled with a blade of grass. "Ginny," he said, still not looking at her, "why did you marry me?"

"What?" An odd flutter rose in Ginny's chest, almost like panic, but it wasn't that, because it wasn't an altogether bad feeling. "I—what do you mean? We got married so we could get the house—"

"I know," Draco interrupted, "but—wasn't there any…any other reason?" She heard a touch of desperation, faint but present, in his question.

Ginny stared down at him—at the top of his head—for what seemed a long time. Then, with a sigh, she sat, settling down on the grass before her, her legs folding comfortably beneath her.

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" she asked wryly. Draco looked up at her quickly, but she was smiling a little. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Is it really so difficult?" he drawled, sounding more like himself.

"You have no idea," Ginny muttered, remembering when she'd laid in bed with Draco, trying to get the words out. "It's—I—Draco, I couldn't have married you if I didn't—I—" She swallowed, the words sticking in her throat.

Draco snorted.

Ginny's temper flared, her cheeks growing hot. "You say it then, if it's so easy!" she shot at him. He looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, and Ginny said, "Don't look at me like that." For it was not really a question, was it, of him loving her? She knew very well that he loved her, even if he had never said it. He had demonstrated it on more than one occasion.

"Fine," Draco said. He looked faintly amused, but when his grey eyes caught hers, his gaze was steady and serious. "Ginny. I love you."

For a moment, Ginny couldn't look away from those deep, stormy eyes. Then she tore her gaze away and muttered, "Prat."

Draco only smiled. Smirked, was more like it.

"Draco, I—" She blew out a long, even breath, and looked at him. "I love you."

She thought he would smirk again, but the smile dropped from his face when she said it. He evaded her gaze, looking down at the grass he'd been plucking. "Do you really, or are you just saying that?"

"No, I'm not just saying it, Draco!" Ginny said in exasperation. He went through all that trouble of making her say it, and then he didn't believe her. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and troubled. This time, she caught his gaze and said firmly, "I mean it. I love you. I—" She bit her lip. "I've loved you for a long time," she said quietly. "Only…I didn't know it. I wouldn't let myself know it." She laughed a little and shrugged. "It seems so ridiculous now, because everything feels…easier. To just admit it."

Draco was nodding, as though he knew exactly what she was talking about. "Yeah," he murmured. "It does." He glanced up at the sky through the tree branches overhead, squinting slightly.

For a moment, silence fell between them. Ginny wondered if he was going to kiss her. He didn't make any move to do so, and she was just thinking that she would kiss _him _if he didn't do it. But then Draco looked at her, so suddenly and so squarely that it took Ginny by surprise. "Ginny, I…have to tell you something."

Something pierced Ginny, a sting of disappointment and understanding. Of course. He had brought her out here, gone through this, because he was going to tell her, probably, about Blaise. And she didn't want him to do it, because she knew things would go downhill from there, and they were having such a nice moment, and she didn't want to ruin it—

"Ginny, it's—I—" He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I've talked with…Lillian Moon."

"What?" This was so far from what Ginny was expecting, she blinked, disoriented. Then a thrill of anxiety prickled through her, at the mention of that woman. "Talked to her? About…not about Will?"

Draco nodded. He glanced down, but then looked up suddenly, as though he were forcing himself to look her in the eye. He looked absolutely wretched. "Ginny," he said quietly, "she's going to take Will."

"What?" She did not understand. She couldn't be hearing him right. "What do you mean, she's going to take him? No, she's not! We haven't even had a hearing yet, no one's spoken to us, how can you say that she's—"

"Because I've talked with her," Draco said, and now his voice sounded like how he looked, desolate and broken. "And…I've agreed. That she should take Will. Have full custody."

Ginny stared at him in horror. He could not be saying this. It didn't make any sense, it was madness, he'd gone mad. "You can't be serious," she said incredulously. When he didn't say anything, she jumped to her feet. "You can't be serious! Why would you do that? Why would you give him up? To _her?_" A horrible feeling rose in Ginny, filling her, fear and sadness and anxiety all rolled into one. "Draco, think what she'll do to him!"

"She can't do any worse than I have," he said, sounding as though he were speaking through gritted teeth.

"What? Don't say that! How can you—"

"It's true." Draco stood too, looking her in the eye. She had never see him look like this, so broken apart, so unsure and haunted, and yet, firm, standing his ground. "Ginny, he's—he'll be better off, with her. Don't you see? If we—if we let him go—"

He nearly choked on the words, and Ginny didn't blame him; she couldn't see how he could even think that, let alone say it.

"If we let him go—" Draco swallowed. "Willingly. The Death Eaters, everyone, they'll think I don't care. They'll leave him be, and if they want to come after me, after us, they can do it some other way, they can leave Will alone—"

"Do you actually believe that?" Ginny demanded. The shock of all this, the disbelief, was slowly melting away into anger, and fear, fear so bright and clear. "Draco, I think it's a little late to pretend we don't care about him, and—and we can keep him safe! We _know _we can keep him safe, but her, that woman—"

"Keep him safe?" Now Draco sounded incredulous, looking at Ginny with almost pitying eyes. "Keep him safe? When have we ever kept him safe, Ginny? He was kidnapped, taken so he could be used against me. And that was far from the first time they'd threatened him. Remember when Higgs and Goyle came to the manor, and as soon as you walked in with Will, they went after him! Merlin, when he'd barely been born, they went after him! Because he was _my _son!"

"Draco." He was scaring her now, really scaring her. "Draco, that's not—"

"It was never supposed to be like this," he said miserably. "I wasn't supposed to raise him, Ginny, don't you see? Remember? Carina and I had agreed, no one would ever know I was his father, and I wouldn't have any part in his life—"

"But she's g-gone, Draco!" Ginny took a step towards him. She could feel something hot and unwelcome stinging her eyes, tears, threatening to spill over. "She's gone, and I—_I _found him, I took him, I brought him to you—"

"You shouldn't have." His voice was harsh, like a slap in the face. Ginny recoiled, stepping away from him, dropping the hand she had reached out to him. "You never should have. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

And he was so convinced of it, so believing, that Ginny felt, with despair, that this was hopeless. She could not persuade him not to do this, she could not tell him to change his mind. She shook her head, feeling sick. "And this—this is how you tell me?" One of those tears spilled over her cheek. A new feeling stole over her: betrayal, rejection. Did he have so little regard for her? To bring her out here like this, tell her he loved her, and then spring this on her? "You don't even ask me? I don't even get a say?"

Draco didn't say anything. He swallowed visibly, barely caught her eye, and then looked away.

"Because—" Ginny's whole body was trembling. "Of course. Because I'm not his mother."

"Don't say that," Draco said, and now he tried to reach out to her, but she stepped back, out of his reach.

"Well, I'm not, am I?" Ginny cried. "If I were, I would have some sort of say in this, wouldn't I? But instead I'm just informed, after the fact, after it's all done, how could you just—how—" She broke off suddenly, a horrible thought forming in her head. "Why did you bring me out here? Now? Draco, when is—when is Will—" She couldn't even say it.

Draco swallowed, meeting her eyes. "Today," he said quietly. "Ginny, he's leaving today."

"He isn't—he's not—" Panic rose in her, and she half-turned, towards the street, towards the house.

"He's there, he's still here now," Draco said, and his reassuring tone was anything but. It made her hate him, it made her want to hurt him, get away from him. Half-turned towards the house, she wasn't able to stop him when he placed a hand on her arm, his fingers curling around to grasp her, to try to turn her to face him. "Ginny—"

"Get off me! Get off, let me go!" Her face was all over wet with tears now, and she struggled beneath his grasp, trying to push him away, but he just grabbed on to her other arm. When that didn't work, she yanked an arm away to shove him, hard, in the chest. She formed a fist, beating it against him. "Let me go! I hate you! I hate you!"

He let go of her, out of shock, maybe. She hit him one last time and then shoved herself away from him, tearing across the green park. She didn't look back for him as she ran across the road, sprinting up the steps, into the house. "Will? Will!"

She found him in the tearoom with Pansy, just as Draco had said. Pansy stood when Ginny came flying in, and Ginny could see, by the look on her face, that she knew, knew everything. "Ginny—"

"Get out." And either by the cold tone of her voice, or the look on her face, Pansy fled the room without another word. Suddenly wishing she was not crying—wishing she could be brave for him—Ginny knelt in front of Will. He'd been sitting on the floor, but now he stood, eye level with Ginny. He looked solemn, no trace of his usual laughter.

"Will." Trembling, Ginny threw her arms around him, pulling him in close. Maybe, just maybe, if she held him tight enough, they couldn't take him from her. "_Will_."

* * *

It was dusk. Draco wandered around the darkening townhouse, feeling empty and cold. Hatred filled him, and he didn't know what he hated himself for more—letting them take Will, or putting Will in such danger in the first place. All he knew was that it oozed from him, filling every ounce of him, until he thought he would burst, until he wished he would, wished it would all stop—

They had taken him, earlier in the day. Lillian had come in the afternoon, as they'd agreed. Draco hadn't seen Ginny since.

He drifted upstairs. She wasn't in the parlor, on the first floor, so he drifted up to the next floor. She wasn't in the master suite, she wasn't in their bedroom. His heart heavy, like a lump of lead, Draco took the next flight of stairs up, to the top floor. There was nothing up there but Will's old room, and a few guest rooms; Granger had stayed up there.

Listlessly, he made his way down the dark, narrow corridor, until he reached the end of the hallway. Will had had a large set of rooms in the corner, not unlike the master suite downstairs. He _had_had them, because he wasn't there anymore. There was nothing there anymore.

The door was halfway open. Draco slowly pushed it open all the way, peering in. Ginny stood in the middle of the room, looking around. The look on her face was one of such disbelief; the anguish in her eyes so pronounced.

For it was all gone. Everything, all of it. Anything Will had not taken with him—his bed, his furniture—Draco had already had packed away, overnight and early this morning. The room was just a room now, bare, empty, as though it had never been lived in at all.

"It's gone," Ginny whispered. "It's all gone. Why—when—"

"Early this morning." Draco's voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and said, "The house-elves did it. I—"

"How could you." Ginny's voice came out in a whisper, but Draco flinched as though she'd shouted. "Why would you—I—it's—" Her voice broke, choked by tears. "It's all gone, like—do you _want _this?" she demanded, turning on him. "Like he was never here, like he doesn't even exist—"

"No, Ginny, I—" He started to come into the room, stepping towards her. "I just thought—it would be easier—"

"Get out." The cold anger in her voice was so terrible, the dark hatred in her eyes so consuming. When he didn't move, she said it again, her voice rising, "Get out, get out, _get out!_"

Draco felt something inside him break. Strange, he didn't think there was anything left in him to break, anything that hadn't already broken. But he felt it, shattering to pieces, like an icicle falling to the pavement. And he couldn't take it, he couldn't live with it. It was pain like he'd never known, and hatred, for himself, so dark, so powerful—

So he drew himself up, and he shut it away. He looked at Ginny one last time before he left, and it was a blank look. "Fine," he said, hearing the hard note in his voice. And he left the room, shutting the door behind him, putting a wall between them.

But then—out alone in the corridor—he slid down the wall, crumpling down to the floor. And he rested his head against the door, listening to Ginny cry, her every sob echoing in his soul like a knife.

END OF PART ONE

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**  
Heh, bet you didn't know there was a Part One :P As in many places, Part Two will be much shorter than Part One. Believe it or not, there's not too much of the fic left! After this chapter, there will a short interlude chapter, and then two or three chapters after that (I think just two, but they'll be very long chapters).

I have to tell you - that last scene of this chapter, or the last couple scenes, I suppose, were incredibly hard for me to write. In fact, after the scene with Kingsley, I had a bit of a panic, because the idea was so horrible to me that I wasn't sure how to write the next scene. I finally decided that I just had to basically skip over the actual scene where Lillian came to take Will away, because I couldn't imagine writing it.

Oh, so about the next chapter, which is an interlude. What is an interlude? Well, for this fic, it means that the next chapter will be -  
1. Much shorter than my usual chapters  
2. From the POV of someone besides Draco or Ginny - although Ginny will appear in it  
3. A sort of in-between chapter to mark the passing of time - the interlude will take place about a year after this chapter


	10. Interlude

**Interlude**

* * *

_July 2007_

Nine years. Nine years and three months, since he'd last seen her. Since he'd been home.

Not that _this_ was his home. This was Ginny's home, at least, according to the _Daily Prophet's _employment records, it was.

His home—Harry's home—was gone. Left behind, three years ago.

Harry stared out at the extravagant townhouse. He stood across the street, in the grassy square that stretched down the block. Beneath his Invisibility Cloak, no one could see him, staring at the house.

He hadn't wanted to see anyone, really, talk to anyone, because he couldn't be sure if it was really safe for him to come back now. It had been nine years—nine bloody years, you'd think it would be safe enough to return—but he had to be sure. There was too much at stake now, things he couldn't risk.

So he needed to see someone—talk to someone—someone he could trust, someone who could fill him in, answer his questions, catch him up, without telling anyone else he'd been there. He'd ruled out going to the Burrow, because even if Ginny was there, it was likely many other Weasleys would be too, especially Mrs. Weasley. And as much as Harry would have liked to see her—to see all of them—he knew he couldn't, not now. It had to be Ginny, and Ginny alone.

So he'd snuck into the _Daily Prophet _offices, got into their employment records, and found Ginny's address. He knew that she worked for the newspaper now; he'd seen her Quidditch articles in a couple of recent papers. So he'd found her address and tracked her down. To this massive townhouse in London. He had no idea what Ginny was doing, living here, how she'd come to live in this great house, but there was no doubt that this was the place.

He crossed the street, his heart hammering in his chest. He was extremely nervous about seeing Ginny after all this time. What would it be like? What would she say? What would _she _be like? All these thoughts ran, scrambled, through Harry's head, as he walked up the steps to her house and took off his Invisibility Cloak. Trying not to think about it too much, he reached out—before he could second-guess himself—and rang the doorbell.

Then he waited. And waited. And waited.

He rang the doorbell a second time, and was just beginning to think that there was no one home—it _was_the middle of the afternoon, on a weekday—when the door swung open.

Harry blinked. Ginny stood before him. There was a male, somewhat old, house-elf standing just behind her. But Harry's eyes were all for Ginny. Not so much because she was just as beautiful as he remembered—though she was—but rather because she had her wand out, pointed straight at him.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Her face was white, but her hand didn't shake, and her tone was resolute.

"Erm—" Harry glanced around, and then looked back at her. "It's me, Ginny. Harry?"

She swallowed visibly. "Who are you really?" she asked, her words coming out from between clenched teeth.

"Harry," he repeated. When she didn't move or lower her wand, he went on, "It's me, Harry Potter, who practically grew up with you since I was eleven years old. We went out sixth year, and even though I haven't got a tattoo of any kind on my chest, you told Romilda Vane I had one of a Hungarian Horntail, and that Ron had a Pygmy—"

"Harry?" Ginny dropped her wand as though her arm had gone limp. She stared at him, her face so white now, she might have been a ghost. Somehow it made her red hair, tied back from her face, even brighter, like a blazing fire. The look in her brown eyes was an odd mixture of disbelief, fear, and relief. She took a step back, though whether because she wanted to get away from him, or because she was inviting him in, Harry wasn't sure. Tentatively, Harry assumed the latter, and took a slow step into the house, as though expecting her to toss him out. He didn't want to be rude, but the less time he spent standing out in the open, the better.

"Erm." He glanced behind him. "Sorry, but I don't want to be seen and—"

"Merlin, Harry, it _is _you!" Ginny suddenly threw her arms around him, and Harry was so relieved, that she believed him and hadn't immediately reacted badly, that he put his arms around her as well, holding her tightly for several long seconds. For a moment, it was so wonderful to be back—to see Ginny, to be welcomed back—that he just stood there, holding her, taking it all in.

But then she let go of him and stepped back, and as Harry let his arms fall from her and to his sides, an inexplicable sadness, coming from so many different places, washed over him.

Ginny's eyes were a bit wet, but she hastily dashed an arm across them and said, "Tasher, please close the door." The house elf standing back a ways hastily went to shut the door.

"Does Miss Ginny and her guest require anything?" the house elf—Tasher—asked politely. "Some refreshments?"

"What? Erm—yes—" Ginny blinked rapidly, looking between Harry and the house-elf, as though she were still processing Harry's appearance. "Bring something into the sitting room, why don't you?"

Tasher scurried off. Harry watched him go, a bit puzzled. For the first time, his eyes left Ginny and traveled around the house he now found himself in. The walls were a shining, pristine white, as was the large, grand staircase on his left, and the banister it led up to, on the first floor. Everything was very elegant and fine, from the polished mahogany tables, to the lamps hung on the wall, to the dark wooden door on the left, to the paneled, glass doors that were propped open behind Ginny. It was a big house, but Harry did not see or hear anyone else within it.

Before he could ask Ginny any questions, however, Ginny stepped up to him again. She had an odd look on her face, and for a moment, he was half-afraid she was going to try to kiss him. But then, her eyes narrowed, and she reached out and punched him, hard, squarely on his chest.

"_Ow_." Harry stepped back, half-fearing another hit. "What was that for?"

Ginny let out a breathless laugh. "For being gone so long, you prat! Without any word at all! Where have you been? In hiding all this time? You were set up somewhere, weren't you, with a Secret-Keeper? Did Hermione ever find you?"

"Hermione?" Harry shook his head. "No. Is she—"

"Come on." Ginny shook herself slightly, as though still trying to make sense of him being there. "Come in here, we can sit down and you can tell me everything." She led him back through the glass doors, into a large, open sitting room, which went back quite deep. Large windows were set in the back wall, letting in plenty of light, though it was shaded, it seemed, through a roofed terrace out back.

Ginny sat on the end of a long sofa, and Harry seated himself on the right and slightly across from her, in a comfortable armchair. He looked at Ginny, still not quite able to believe that he was here with her. She looked thin, he thought, thinner than he remembered her, and he saw, now, that there was something wan about her face. It was…off, about her. Ginny had always been so vibrant, so strong, but there was something almost fragile about her now. He wondered what she'd been through, to make her look so drawn. And he wondered, guiltily, if it was anything he could have prevented, if he'd been here.

But then, sometimes things happened you couldn't stop, even if you were there. That, Harry had discovered, was almost worse than knowing you could have done something, if you'd known. Knowing, being there, and still not being able to do anything—that was worse.

"So," Ginny said, settling in comfortably in the sofa, "you haven't seen Hermione at all?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Was she looking for me?"

Ginny nodded. "She took off here about a year ago looking for you—well, she'd been looking for you before that, too, I think. She actually left Grimmauld Place and went off into hiding about _four _years ago, but that was really just because she didn't want to be alone after—" She faltered. "Well, after—"

"Oh." Harry nodded. "After Ron left, you mean."

Confusion colored Ginny's expression, replacing an anxious look that had been stealing over her face. "What?" She blinked, shaking her head. "You know that Ron—" She broke off, her eyes going wide. "Wait—Harry, have you—have you _seen Ron?_"

"Of course." Now Harry was confused. "He's been with me, these past few years. You didn't know?"

Ginny gaped at him, her mouth moving soundlessly, open and shut, like a fish. Her eyes were so wide it was slightly alarming. "He's—Ron—he's been—all this time—he's been with _you?_ Harry, are—are you _sure?_"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, feeling a little insulted that she thought he might've been mistaken. What did she think, that he'd imagined Ron living with him these past four years? "I mean, if he were an imposter or something, I think I would have noticed after all this time—"

Ginny was now looking at him as though she were trying very hard not to scream. Her hands were twitching, as though she very much wanted to punch or strangle someone. Harry wondered whether he should perhaps put some more distance between them.

"And—" Her words came out a bit choked. "And he couldn't—did it _never_ occur to my stupid, idiotic, prat of a brother—to maybe, you know, send his family some word that he was even _alive?_"

"What?" Harry blinked in astonishment. "You mean, you didn't know? Don't tell me you thought he was dead!"

Ginny sucked in a deep, long breath. She shut her eyes for a moment, holding a hand over her forehead. "Merlin," she whispered. Then, with great effort, she opened her eyes and looked around at him.

"_Yes_, Harry Potter, we all thought he was dead! Well, I didn't," she amended. "There was never a body, and I refused to believe—I thought, in fact, that he might have gone off with you. But of course everyone else thought he was dead! He never sent any word otherwise, and he just disappeared, during the attack on the Ministry! The last anyone saw him was Tracey, and she saw him being overwhelmed by Death Eaters, before she was knocked out—"

"Well." Harry coughed. "Yes, he was taken captive by the Death Eaters, but he escaped and came to find me—apparently, they were going after him a lot already, see, to get him to tell them where I was—"

"So he _was _your Secret-Keeper?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "So he knew where to find me, see. Not that it matters anymore, we left that place years ago—we've been on the move a bit, that's why we didn't want to send any owls or—"

"Forget owls, what about a Patronus?" Ginny demanded, her eyes a bit wild.

"Well, I thought Ron did send a Patronus." Harry shook his head. "I thought he said—I don't really know what happened, Gin. I'm sorry," he said, suddenly feeling guilty all over again, even though it was not, really, his fault. "We should've—I dunno—"

"Oh, Harry, it's not your fault," Ginny said crossly. "It's Ron, the stupid git—_honestly_." She shook her head. She grabbed a pillow, sitting on the sofa beside her, and bunched it up in her arms, hugging it. "The thing is, we got word about a year ago—the Ministry found out, from Bellatrix Lestrange, that Ron had escaped them alive. So everyone's sort of been hoping—the whole family, I mean—but, well, we still hadn't had any word, so…" She trailed off with a shrug.

Harry felt terrible. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said. "I really didn't know—I mean—but then—" A horrible thought occurred to him. "Hermione—did she think, too, that Ron was—was dead?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, but she eventually came to believe that he might be alive because—erm—" For some reason, Ginny went a bit pink, and she glanced around the room nervously, as though expecting to see someone listening in. "Well, someone—I mean, some evidence was found, in the Riddle House, and—well, the point is, when she went off looking for you, a year ago, I think she was hoping she'd find Ron with you, too."

Harry nodded. He sat back in the chair, looking around. He wasn't quite sure what to say. He knew Ginny probably had other questions, but he wasn't eager to answer them, wasn't eager to share everything he'd been through, the past several years. So, instead, he voiced the question he'd been thinking of since he arrived. "Ginny," he said, frowning slightly, "where did you get this house? And the house-elf? I mean, I know you've been working for the _Daily Prophet_, but I didn't think they paid this much," he said jokingly.

Ginny didn't smile, however. She looked a bit uncomfortable. "Erm—Harry—so you've been reading the _Prophet? _Keeping up with things?"

"Only lately, really," Harry admitted. "I was able to get papers more often when I was still, erm—living at the house, the one with the Fidelius Charm, you know. But like I said, we left there about three years ago, and we've been on the move, so we haven't really had much news. It's only the past six months or so I've been getting the _Daily Prophet _more regularly."

"Oh," Ginny said. She looked a bit strained. "Well—erm—a lot has changed around here, you know. I mean—I mean, not everything, of course. Fred and George are still living in their flat, above their shop—except, George is married now, to Diana Bradley, and they have a son—"

"Really?" Harry felt a grin spread across his face. "I knew he'd gotten married—that was in the _Prophet_—but I didn't know he had a son! That's great!"

"Yes, he's five now, or he will be. His birthday's in a couple weeks." Ginny smiled a little, but it was a weak smile. "And, er, Bill and Fleur have a daughter too now, Victoire—she's three now, well, three and a half—"

"That's great—"

"Yeah, and, erm—well—let's see—" Ginny sort of stuttered off, looking very pink now, for some reason. She cast around, as though unsure what to say. Harry looked at her for a moment and then, unthinkingly, he glanced down at her hands, which were fluttering uneasily in her lap. A glint of gold there caught his eye, and it was a small shock to him, this realization.

"And you got married too," he said.

"Wh-what?" Ginny looked up quickly, looking slightly panicked.

Harry pointed at the gold ring on her left hand. "You're married too, aren't you?" he asked.

"Oh—well—" She swallowed, looking a bit distraught. Harry wished she wouldn't, but she was probably worried what he thought. The truth was, although he was surprised, the first thing he felt, really, was relief.

Because if Ginny had moved on, then maybe it would be okay that he had, too.

"Yes—I did get married." Ginny swallowed, twisting the golden band around her finger. It was an elaborate ring, gold and set with diamonds. Elaborate, just like this house. Whoever she married must be well off, Harry thought. "And, well, the thing is, Harry—I—"

"Excuse me, Miss Ginny." Harry and Ginny looked around at the squeaky voice, and Harry saw, with a start, _another _house-elf, standing at the back of the room. "Miss Fleur is Flooing for you, Miss Ginny, in the parlor."

"Oh." Ginny leapt to her feet, still looking quite flushed. "Okay." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Ginny, reading his mind, assured him, "Don't worry, Harry, I won't say anything about you. She probably just wants to know if I can watch Victoire sometime—I'll be just a minute."

Harry nodded, watching her hurry out of the room. The house elf—this one was female—scurried off after her. He shook his head, wondering that she had _two_house-elves. Not even the Malfoys had had two house-elves, so far as he knew, though he supposed they could have afforded them.

He got to his feet, looking about the room more closely. It was a very nice room, but, Harry thought, it didn't have much of a lived-in feel. There was hardly a personal thing to be seen, no pictures, nothing, save for a blue cardigan hung over one of the chairs beside a table.

He wandered off to the left side of the room, where two doors stood open, revealing a much smaller room, which was cramped with bookshelves and two armchairs. He supposed this was a sort of library. Harry stepped inside. There was a book sitting on one of the armchairs; he picked it up and read the title _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. Had Ginny been reading this?

On the left side of the library, there was another door, which just barely stood ajar, open only a crack. Considering that it was more closed than open, Harry thought he probably shouldn't go in this room—probably shouldn't even peek in—but Ginny was still upstairs, and Harry was becoming more and more curious about Ginny's life here. Who had she married?

Stepping past the armchair, he eased the door open and stuck his head in, looking inside.

It was a dark study. There was a very large desk, which took up most of the room, carved from black, polished wood. There was a single lamp in the room, one that probably didn't give much light, Harry thought. There was also a window, but there were curtains closed against the light from outside. All sorts of papers and books littered the desk, nothing special. Harry was just about to shut the door and leave the dark room when an object on the desk caught his eye. It was a picture frame, but it was face-down, as though it had fallen over forward—or as if it had been deliberately placed that way.

Overcome by curiosity, Harry stepped forward and picked up the picture frame, turning it over in his hand.

The photo in the frame depicted two people, smiling back at him. One of them was Ginny. Another was a small, blond boy, barely more than a toddler. The photo looked like it had been taken outside. Ginny was sitting on the grass, and the blond boy was in her lap, laughing and squirming, as she held him tightly in her arms. She looked much happier than she did now—her bright red hair hung loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes were dancing and mischievous, just as he remembered them.

Harry frowned, staring at the photo, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Who was the boy? Was this…Ginny's son? Did she have a child? The thought made Harry feel strange, that so much could have changed since he'd been gone. But then, it had been nine years, and things had changed for him, too.

It was strange, though. True, he hadn't seen much of the house, but it didn't look like a house that had a child living in it. It was too clean, and there wasn't a child's toy or book to be seen. In Harry's experience, things were often all over the place where small children lived, but then, maybe that was just his experience.

And the boy himself—he looked nothing like Ginny, with his blond hair. His skin was fair too, but not a trace of a freckle anywhere, that Harry could see. Maybe this was Bill and Fleur's child? No, Ginny said they had a daughter, that couldn't be right. He didn't think this could be George's son either; George had married Diana Bradley, who had dark hair. Harry stared at the child in the photo. There was something familiar in his face, in his features, but he couldn't really say what.

Puzzled, Harry placed the photo back on the table, standing it upright. As he did, he spotted another frame on the other side of the desk, facing slightly away from him. This was one was upright, displaying its photo. Harry reached for it and picked it up.

The frame held a photograph of Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry felt as though his blood had turned to ice in his veins. He stared at her pale face. She looked back at him with a hint of a smile marring her haughty expression, though her eyes were cold. Harry had heard about what had happened to Narcissa Malfoy; that had been nearly five years ago. She'd been hit with some dreadful curse that put her in a permanent coma.

Harry's thoughts were racing. Who would have a picture of Narcissa Malfoy in their study? In their very _dark_ study…someone who was living with Ginny, someone who was…_married_…to Ginny….

Slowly, Harry picked up the first photograph, of Ginny and the small boy. He stared at the little boy, at his blond hair, which was not so pale as his father's, at his grey eyes, which were _exactly _like his father's…

"Harry?"

Harry gave a start, looking around, but he was too shocked to feel guilty. Slowly—with both photographs still in each of his hands—he wandered out of the study and into the library. When he stepped out into the library doorway, Ginny, who stood in the sitting room, looked around and saw him. "Where were you?" she asked, sounding more curious than upset.

"I was—I know I shouldn't have." Harry's voice came out hoarsely. "But—I was in that room—" He jerked his head to the side, indicating the study. "The door was open a little bit and I—" He half held out the photo of Ginny and the little boy. "It was—Ginny—I…" He trailed off as Ginny came towards him. She was frowning now, but she looked puzzled, not angry. She took the photo from him and looked at it.

Instantly, all the color drained from her face. She looked between Harry and the photo, looking stricken. "But—where did you get this?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Harry pointed. "It was in there."

Ginny pushed past him, stepping into the dark study. Slightly taken aback by her reaction, Harry followed after her. In the study, he peered around and caught sight of her expression. She looked utterly miserable, looking around the room, her eyes traveling over the desk and the shuttered window and the bookcase. She swallowed visibly, looking down at the photo. "I didn't even know he still had this picture," she said quietly.

"I—it was face down on the desk." Harry felt, suddenly, as if he were intruding on something very private. He almost forgot his shock at the thought of Malfoy being married to Ginny, for Ginny looked so distraught that it was upsetting him.

"Well, that figures," Ginny said angrily, though her voice still shook, as though she were suppressing tears. But she set her jaw firmly, and placed the photo back on the desk, facedown, just as it had been before.

"Ginny…" Harry said weakly. "There was this one, too."

He held out the photograph of Narcissa, and Ginny took it, glancing down at it. She stared at it for a moment, and then looked back up at Harry, looking grave. Harry thought that she might be, only just now, realizing what _he_had realized, as he'd looked at that picture. But Ginny only calmly placed the photo down on the desk and said, "Did you hear what happened to her?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"It's awful," Ginny said softly. "Whatever she was, she didn't deserve that. I've seen her in St. Mungo's and it's horrible, like she's just sleeping, only she won't ever wake up."

A rush of Harry's shock returned at this, and maybe, even, a little bit of anger. He tried to keep his voice calm and steady as he said, "Any why did you go see her in St. Mungo's?"

Ginny sighed. She looked at him wryly. "C'mon," she said, stepping past him, "let's go back to the sitting room and talk."

Harry closed the study door as they left. He followed Ginny back through the small library, but he stopped short when they reached the sitting room, not sure if he could go any further. One of the house-elves had brought refreshments and set them on a table, a fine silver tray with little sandwiches and the makings for tea. But Harry didn't want tea, and he didn't want to sit down. "Ginny," he said, and he knew his voice sounded strangled, but he couldn't help it. "I don't—that photo. Malfoy—"

Ginny turned around sharply at the name, but Harry kept going.

"Malfoy—he lives here, doesn't he? Draco Malfoy. That's his study."

Ginny looked at him for a moment. Harry stared at her, taken aback, once again, by how _brittle _she looked, how small and thin, how her eyes were red-rimmed, even though she hadn't been crying, how lifeless she seemed. It came to him, then, with a surge of fury, that Malfoy must have done this to her, taken all the life from her, crushed her like this. He felt his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"I knew he was out of prison," Harry said stiffly. "I knew he'd been given a few years—"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, he's been out for years now—"

"And you—you're—" Harry shook his head, glancing down, again, at the ring on her finger. "Ginny, are you…_married _to him?"

In spite of all the evidence, he was still half-hoping she would say no. But she closed her eyes, as though it caused her great pain, and said, "Yes. I'm married to him."

Harry nodded numbly. He tried to take it in, but it just didn't make any _sense_. "And you…you have a son?"

"No," Ginny said sharply. Then her eyes widened, as if she had shocked herself with her own vehement denial. She hunched in on herself, looking miserable. "I mean, yes—I did—we did—but he's not—" She sighed, looking around, and then sat down heavily on the sofa.

Harry watched her, tilting his head slightly. She was clearly upset, so upset, and he didn't want to make it worse, but he had nothing to say, nothing to say except to demand how she could have possibly married Malfoy, had a child with him, _lived _with him. So he kept quiet, and waited for her to talk.

"He's not my son," she said quietly, taking him by surprise with this news. "I mean, not biologically. He's Draco's son. But I raised him, I've raised him since he was a baby, only—" She took a deep breath, and looked up at the ceiling, as though that might make this easier for her. "Only we l-lost him."

Harry felt as though he had been punched in the gut. "You—he's not—"

"Oh, he's alive and well," Ginny said, and considering this was good news, she could not have sounded more wretched. "But we don't have custody of him anymore. His grandmother—his mother's mother—she has him now." Ginny lowered her head into her hands for a moment, before taking another deep breath and looking over at Harry. "We don't even get to see him," she said softly, looking pale and grim.

And suddenly, it made sense. Well, not Malfoy and Ginny—Harry still didn't understand that—but Ginny, how she was now, how broken and sad and empty she seemed. Because Harry couldn't imagine it, having a child taken from him, but he thought, dimly, that it had to be awful, the most awful thing. Even though he was still confused about so much of this situation, Harry felt the anger drain out of him in an instant. Letting out a heavy breath, he sat down beside Ginny on the sofa.

"I'm sorry," he said wearily. "I'm really—I'm so sorry, Ginny. I—that's horrible."

Ginny only nodded. She pulled one foot up onto the sofa, hugging her knee to herself.

"When—when was this?" Harry asked tentatively.

"A year ago," she said hoarsely. "It'll be exactly a year ago, next week."

"I'm sorry," he said again, He couldn't think what else to say.

Ginny shot him a knowing glance, and he was glad to see there was something like a smile, tugging at the corner of her lips. "You still want to know, though, don't you," she said. "About me and Malfoy? How we ended up together?"

"Together," Harry echoed, trying not to sound too confounded and disgusted by this. "You're not—you really…_together? _I mean—well, you're married, I suppose, so…"

Ginny sighed. "It's actually far, far more complicated than you could ever imagine," she said wearily. "I—when Will was born—that's our son—well, Malfoy was in hospital, at the time, so I took care of him. And then he was out of the country for several months, because he was doing some work for the Order—"

"For the _Order?_" Harry spluttered. "Malfoy? You can't be serious."

"Yeah, well." Ginny snorted. "He's not exactly loved by the Death Eaters, you know. A good lot of them have wanted him dead since he got out of prison, and having Will—" Her voice tightened. "Well, he wanted protection, you know. For himself, for Will. So we convinced him to help the Order out a bit, in exchange for _us_ helping _him _out. Anyway—" She flicked a strand of hair out of her face "—when he came back, he still needed someone to look after Will, and, well, I volunteered. I was sort of attached to him by then, anyway—Will, I mean—so…" She shrugged.

Harry grimaced. "But—you and Malfoy—I mean—"

"He has changed," Ginny said sharply. "I won't try to convince you of it—I know from experience, with my family, there's no point. But even they have accepted that I've married him, and that I—well." Her cheeks went pink again. "That I have a life with him, and—"

"You care about him," Harry said quietly.

Ginny nodded silently.

"Do you…" Harry swallowed "…love him?"

Ginny looked up at him. She looked flustered. "Harry—I—look, I'm sorry, but—it's been _nine years_, and I—well—"

"No—no, Ginny, please," Harry cut in desperately. "I'm not—I know. Believe me, I didn't expect to come back after all this time and find you waiting for me, really, I didn't. I'm not—I'm okay with that. Really. And, well, in other circumstances I'd be really happy to come back and find you happily married, but, well, it's just that it's—"

"—Malfoy," Ginny finished. "It's Malfoy. And anyway—" She laughed bitterly. "We're not exactly _happily _married. Not anymore."

Harry looked up at her. "But…you were happy with him? Before?"

Ginny nodded, rather emphatically, which took Harry by surprise. "Yeah. _Yes_." She shook her head, looking half-amazed to hear herself say it, and half-regretful to find it all gone. "There were about three months there where—I mean, we had worked everything out, and we got married, and we had Will, and we lived here—" She gestured around at the sitting room. She sighed. "And then we lost Will," she said miserably. "And it all went wrong."

Harry shook his head, still trying to understand. "Was there a bad custody battle? That can be nasty—"

"No," Ginny said clearly, taking him by surprise. "No, there was nothing. There would have been, I suppose. When we first heard—we were bent on fighting it, both of us. But then—" Ginny shut her eyes, and she looked as if she were trying very hard to remain calm. "Draco talked with Lillian Moon."

"Who?"

"Will's grandmother. Carina Moon, do you remember her? She was Will's mum, but she died when—"

"—when she gave birth!" Harry cut in. Ginny looked taken aback. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—but Ron, he was there, he delivered the baby! I didn't realize that was—he told me she'd been going out with Malfoy, for the Order, but he said the baby wasn't his—"

"That was a lie," Ginny told him. "Draco and Carina decided on it together. To keep him safe, you see, because all those Death Eaters had been coming after Draco. Which brings me back," she said sadly, "to how it all went wrong."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Ginny rested her head to the side, laying her cheek against her knee. "Draco talked to Lillian Moon," she told him. She sounded tired, resigned. "And he was already worried—he was already worried that we could lose him, because Will _has _been in danger because of Draco…" Ginny sighed bitterly. "And somehow, she convinced him of it, you see. Lillian Moon. She convinced him that Will would be safer with her."

"And you don't believe that?" Harry said quietly.

Ginny lifted her head to shake it vehemently. "No. _No_. Harry, for one thing, she's—Merlin, she's a piece of work, that woman. The Moon family, you know, they've been like the Blacks—not Death Eaters, but always predisposed to Voldemort's way of thinking. Although Draco seemed to think she had changed, Lillian…" Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. But even if that's true, I don't believe—I won't ever believe—that Will is any safer with her than he would be with us."

"But Draco does believe that?"

Ginny looked grim. "I think he does." She ran a hand over her ponytail. "Anyway, so Draco gave him up to her. Willingly. And it was all decided without me."

Harry couldn't fathom this. "But, you said you've been like his mum—"

"I _am _his mum," Ginny said adamantly, and for a moment, she was like the old Ginny, the one Harry remembered. But then she seemed to deflate again. "Only I'm not. Not really. I never even adopted him. So I didn't get a say. By the time Draco told me, it had already been decided."

Harry shook his head. He felt anger rising up again, this time for Malfoy, all for Malfoy. "That's horrible, Ginny. If you've been his mum, how could Malfoy just make that kind of decision without asking you?"

"I think he thought—" Ginny spoke quietly now, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I think he thought that, if he told me, I wouldn't let it happen. But…it was more than that." She wasn't looking at him, but Harry saw an anguished look come over her brown eyes. "I found out later…a few months later…it was more than that."

"What do you mean, more than that?" Harry prompted.

She tossed him a quick look. He was surprised to see the look on her face, panicked, like a deer caught in a predator's sights. She seemed to hesitate, as though not sure what to say. "There was—Lillian Moon—" Her voice dropped, and now she was whispering, and Harry had to strain to hear her. "She…had something. On Draco. About me." She looked absolutely wretched. "She threatened him, or rather, she threatened me, to him…" She trailed off, shutting her eyes and shaking her head.

"She _had_ something?" Harry repeated. "You mean she _blackmailed _him? But Ginny, what could she possibly have? And if you know this, why haven't you—I mean—"

"For one thing, it doesn't change anything, for Draco," Ginny said, and her voice was quite steady now. "In the end, he really was convinced that giving Will up would be safer, for him. But…" Ginny shook her head. "Oh, Harry, but don't you see? If he _was _thinking about me, at all, when he decided this…" She bit her lip. "If it was at all a factor, for him, then it's m-me—it's my fault—"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted. He leaned forward. "Before we get into _that_bit of ridiculousness, because it definitely wasn't your fault—"

"But—"

"—what is it, exactly, that she was blackmailing him with, about you?" Harry frowned. "What could she possibly…" He trailed off, studying her, taking in that panicked look in her eyes. "Did you…do something?"

"I—not—it's—" Ginny blew out a long breath. "What she thinks…it's partly true, and partly not, but I—look, the specifics don't matter. What it comes down to is, the way she said it—Harry, I talked to her, that's how I found out. I _talked_ to her, and she told me, exactly what she'd told him, about me. And he thought, well…he really thought I was in danger, Harry. And—" She bit her lip. "It just…it _changed _things, for me, you see? Because I had been so angry with him… and now…" She trailed off helplessly.

Harry understood. And he was surprised, because, as she told him this, he found a…grudging, reluctant…respect for Malfoy. At least in this. Because if this was true, then Malfoy had wanted to protect Ginny, had tried to protect Ginny.

But for Ginny, that made it all worse, of course. Because she felt responsible now…and, apparently, it made her less certain in her anger with Malfoy, which Harry felt was a mistake. As far as he was concerned, Malfoy still could have at least talked to Ginny about it. The prat.

"So…" Harry put aside his own anger for Malfoy, because that wouldn't help her, not now. "Have you talked with Malfoy? About any of this? Does he even know that _you _know…about the blackmail?"

Ginny smiled humorlessly. "No," she said ironically, and he felt, beneath her tone, that she was hiding some pain, some sadness. "Because we don't talk, see. Not anymore. Not since Will left. We don't talk…ever."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean, not ever? You live here together, don't you?"

"Yeah, well." Ginny shrugged. "It's a big house. Very easy to avoid someone, in this house. Although—" She shook her head. "We actually don't avoid each other, not always. I mean, in some ways, we do. I have my own bedroom now, on the top floor—"

"I really didn't need to hear that," Harry muttered.

"—but in other ways—Harry, we still have meals together, for Merlin's sake. Dinner, always, and sometimes breakfast. But we _don't talk_. At all. Not more than is absolutely necessary, I mean, like to say that I'm going out for groceries and does he need anything, things like that. We don't even make small talk. We don't ever talk about anything. Not anymore."

"That—that's mad." Harry shook his head. "Ginny, what a horrible way to live."

"Yes." And she suddenly looked tired, so, so tired. "It is."

"Well—why do you put up with him?" he demanded. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, and he couldn't hold this back anymore, this rage for Malfoy. "What's his problem, anyway? He takes your kid away from you, and then he won't even talk to you?"

"Oh, don't," Ginny whispered. "Please, don't—"

"Well, I mean it! How can you stand it, Ginny? Why don't you do something about it, leave, or something—"

"Because!" Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose, looking frustrated. "Harry, he's not doing it to hurt me. Don't you get it? He's doing it to hurt _himself_. To punish himself! He hates himself, don't you see?"

"Malfoy? Hate himself?" Harry snorted. "Yeah, right. If he had that kind of conscience, he'd never have done what he did back in sixth year—"

"For one thing," Ginny interrupted, her eyes flashing, "I told you, he's changed. And for another—that's exactly my point, Harry! It's _not _like Malfoy, the way he's been acting, this self-loathing he carries around all the time—it's not like him at all, and to be honest, it terrifies me!"

She was on her feet now too, facing him down. And though Harry was taken aback, to hear her so staunchly defending Malfoy, a part of him was also glad, because _this_ was Ginny, fighting and resolute. For the first time since he'd walked in, she seemed _alive_.

"He feels guilty, Harry! For everything! He feels guilty for ever raising Will in the first place, for keeping him when he was born, because he thinks he's put Will in all this danger, just because he's _his_ son! And yet, at odds with that, he feels guilty for giving Will up, because that's hurt _me_, and deep down, he must know it's probably hurt Will too, being away from the only parents he's ever known! And he won't let me in—" Her face suddenly crumpled, and she looked sad, and defeated, and helpless.

"He won't let me talk to him, he won't let me help him, because he doesn't _want _to be helped. He doesn't think he deserves it. So he's shut himself off—if there's one thing Draco's good at, it's shutting everything away—just like Will, just like he packed up all his things, and all the photos, anything that's a reminder of him—" She spoke bitterly now. Without warning, she threw her hands up in the air, and collapsed back onto the sofa. She took a huge breath, and buried her face in her hands.

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure what to say. Tentatively, he sat back down on the couch beside her, though he kept some distance between them, a few feet. When he finally spoke, he spoke honestly. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but—I can't feel sorry for him. I just can't. If Malfoy's finally grown a conscience, then he _should_feel guilty, for everything he's done. I just wish—" He shook his head, his tone frustrated. "I just wish you weren't all mixed up in it. Because you're miserable, Ginny, I can tell, I could tell from the moment I walked in, even before you told me any of this—"

"But that's not Draco, Harry," Ginny said wearily. She turned her head to look at him, and he was relieved to see that she wasn't crying. "It's just—I'm just so tired of this. I wish he would let me forgive him, because I'm tired of being sad. Because it's…it's _exhausting_."

Harry nodded slowly. And then it washed over him, unexpected, without warning, as it always did—his own sadness, opening like an abyss before him, unending, forever. It felt as though someone had reached inside him, grabbed a fistful of his soul, and made a fist, slowly drawing the life out of him.

"Yeah," he heard himself say, as though he were listening from very far away. "I know it is."

* * *

Harry didn't stay much longer, after that. He asked Ginny not to tell anyone that he'd been by. She agreed, though she seemed upset by this, upset that he wasn't sure yet, if he would come back, for good.

He hadn't even really asked her everything he'd meant to, gotten all the answers he needed, but it felt like enough, what he had learned. All he felt, now, was that so much had changed—maybe too much. How could he simply come back to that?

Of course, there were other reasons, he knew, other reasons he was avoiding it, coming back. But he ignored those reasons, pushed them away. All that mattered was that he needed to get back. Back to his current, makeshift home. Back to Ron.

And back to his daughter.

* * *

**End Notes: **Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing! It really helps to know people are enjoying and appreciating this story. Since this was just an interlude, I will try to get the next full chapter out very quickly.


	11. Chapter Nine

**Author's Notes:** So, I feel compelled by reviews to let everyone know that this fic will have a happy ending lol. It may seem bleak now, but this is not dark!fic. I always put a warning when I'm writing dark!fic.

There will be 2 more chapters and a short epilogue after this one, so we're winding to a close!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_November 2007_

Ginny started awake, her head snapping up from its uncomfortable position against the hard wooden desk. She blinked blearily, her eyes stung by the bright light shining in through the window. She lifted her head, which felt heavy, and was disgusted to find a bit of drool left on the desk.

Wiping her lip, she forced herself to sit up straight. She'd fallen asleep at her writing desk again, at Merlin knew what time. The last she remembered, it had been six in the morning, yet she'd still been writing furiously, determined to finish and make her deadline.

With a huge yawn, Ginny stood, her stiff body unfolding from the uncomfortable chair. At least she was dressed comfortably, in her warm sweat pants and a long-sleeved shirt. She went out into the corridor, her feet, covered in warm socks, padding along the wooden floor. "Nuly?" she called, out in the corridor. Although she was on the top floor of the townhouse, she knew Nuly would be near, waiting for her to wake.

As predicted, the house-elf came running from down the hall. "Yes, Miss Ginny? Would Miss Ginny like some breakfast?"

Ginny frowned. "What time is it?" Likely too late for a real breakfast.

"It's just past one o'clock, Miss Ginny. In the afternoon."

Ginny pulled a face. "How about just a bacon sandwich, then?" she asked. Half breakfast, half-lunch.

Nuly scurried off to take this order to Tasher, who did most of the cooking. Shrugging back her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in her back, Ginny went back into her room to quickly finish her article. Her room was the very same room Hermione had stayed in, for the short time she'd been with them. It was one of the smallest rooms in the house, though it suited Ginny just fine. As it was on the top floor, near the attic, it had a rustic feel, with its boarded floor and simple, unpolished wood furniture. The window faced the back of the house, the west, so the light that filtered through in the morning wasn't overly bright. She had a full-sized bed—a small bed, compared to most in the house—with a red quilt coverlet. The walls were painted a light blue, and when direct sunlight shone in through the window in the late afternoon, the walls gleamed like the ocean, sparkling beneath the sun's rays.

It was a quiet, peaceful room; it both reminded her of home, but also was entirely her own. She had moved up here in the days following Will's departure. At the time, she had just wanted to feel closer to Will, whose old rooms were just down the hall. But she had come to really like the room in her own right. Most especially because it was the perfect place to get her writing done for the _Daily Prophet_; the room was so removed from the rest of the house.

By the time Tasher brought up her bacon sandwich, she was just finishing the last lines of her article. "Did Draco say anything about when he'd be home?" she asked, an odd lump forming in her throat. She coughed and said, "Or just the usual time?"

"Master Malfoy said he would probably be home late, Miss Ginny," Tasher squeaked. "Is there anything else you is needing, Miss Ginny?"

Ginny sighed and shook her head. As Tasher left the room, she rubbed a hand over her temple. She was beginning to feel a dull ache form there, probably from sleeping in such an awkward position at her desk. She quickly jotted down the last few lines of her article, then folded it into an envelope.

She continued to sit at her desk as she ate her bacon sandwich, trying to ignore the growing pounding in her head. She closed her eyes, remembering dinner last night. She had so wanted to say something to Draco—_anything_—but every time she'd looked over at him, and seen that stony expression on his face, she'd either lost her nerve or grown annoyed with him. So in the end, she'd said nothing, just like every other night.

It was bloody awful. Ginny had never imagined living like this. True, when Will had first left, she had wanted it like this. She didn't want to talk to Draco, or even see him.

But then…things had changed. She knew things now that she hadn't known then. She had accepted, now, that Will was gone. She wasn't okay with it, by any stretch, but she had stopped blaming Draco for it. She wanted to talk to him, she _needed _to talk to him, but he flatly wouldn't allow it.

And so it went on. This silent cohabitation. It had gone on for near a year and a half now.

Ginny was fed up with it.

She finished her sandwich and took her envelope all the way downstairs, out to the conservatory, where their eagle owl stayed. Once she'd sent her article off to the _Daily Prophet _office with him, she returned inside, gratefully, for the bright sunlight was no help to her aching head.

She wandered upstairs. She bypassed the parlor and went up to the second floor. There, she paused on the landing, looking all the way down the corridor on her right. At the end of the corridor was the master suite. Draco's bedroom. Her _old _bedroom.

Unthinkingly, she ambled down the corridor and into the rooms. She paused for a moment, looking around the cold, empty sitting room. She peeked into the large bathroom, and then bypassed it, drifting into the bedroom.

She hadn't been in here in months. It looked just like she remembered it, minus all her possessions, for they had all been moved into her room upstairs. Sadly, Ginny drifted through the room, her eyes traveling over the books piled on the floor, the framed photo of Hogwarts on the dresser, the ridiculously ornate lamp on the bedside table. She ran her hands along the wall, over the window panes, shut firmly against the cold outside.

She went over to the wardrobe. It wasn't quite shut all the way, and one of Draco's shirts was peeking out through it, as though he'd been in a hurry getting dressed this morning. Ginny opened the wardrobe. She started to tuck the shirt back in its proper place, hanging neatly inside, but she paused. The shirt wrinkled beneath her fingers as she closed her hand tightly around the starched material.

Then she let go, shut the wardrobe firmly, and turned away. An overwhelming sadness enveloped her. Ginny was so used to sadness by now, but accompanying it, this time, was a horrible, aching loneliness.

She drifted over to the bed and smoothed her hand over the dark blue duvet.

Ginny remembered, with a pang, the first time she'd slept in a bed with Draco, which was before she'd actually _slept _with him, before they had ever had sex. It had been in the manor, after Nott had pushed her down the stairs in the middle of the night. She remembered curling up in that massive bed, and even though she had not touched Draco or even come near him that whole night, it had been such a comfort, his presence there.

Swallowing, she sat down on the bed now, alone in the bedroom. With another pang, she thought of the first times she had kissed Draco. Once, in her feverish, delusional state, when she'd mistakenly thought he was Blaise, only to kiss him and realize at once that he was definitely _not _Blaise.

And then again, a year later, when she'd made herself let go of Blaise, when she'd realized it was Malfoy now, Malfoy who was her family and her comfort and her life. She remembered the force of his lips on hers, the warmth of his hands on her skin, the scent that was so distinctly him, a spicy, cinnamon-like scent…

She sighed and lay back, rolling over on to her side until she lay, squarely, in the middle of the bed. She curled up in a ball—her head really was hurting—and buried her face against the duvet. It smelled like him, like Draco, and it was comforting and familiar, and eased the ache of her loneliness, just a bit.

She lay there several minutes longer. She kept telling herself she needed to get up now, but the duvet was warm against her cheek, and even the thought of moving made her head hurt even more. Her breathing grew quiet, deep and even…

She slept.

When she woke again, it was immediately clear that hours had passed, even though Ginny was not immediately certain where she was. But it was utterly—blissfully—dark in the room, and Ginny noticed the difference instantly. The sun had gone down.

The only light in the room, keeping it from being pitch-black, was a sliver of light peeking in through the doorway she was facing. The door stood halfway open.

The next thing Ginny realized was that someone was in the room with her.

Ginny tensed automatically. Her hand, now numb, sandwiched between her chest and the bed, twitched, as though to go for her wand. But she didn't have her wand. Ginny frowned in the darkness. Why didn't she have her wand? Where…?

Then she remembered. And then she realized. She had fallen asleep in Draco's bed. She was in Draco's room.

And if it was so late that it was dark outside, and there was someone in the room, then it was probably Draco.

Slowly, trying not to move too much, Ginny eased her head up and around. It _was _Draco. He stood with his back to her, and he was shirtless, by the wardrobe. She watched as he crossed the room to the dresser, and pulled out a plain black t-shirt from one of the drawers. He pulled it on over his head. Then he turned and, in the pale of the light coming in from the adjoining room, saw her watching him.

Ginny suddenly felt terribly awkward, as his gaze froze on her, as though he had been caught off-guard. Ginny sat up quickly, intending to make her excuses and leave, but she immediately regretted the sudden motion. The ache in her head had turned into an all-out throbbing. Wincing, Ginny shut her eyes, a hand going to the side of her head to clutch it.

"What's wrong?"

Ginny opened her eyes in surprise. The words seemed to have left Draco's lips before he could stop them. Blinking painfully, Ginny said, "I have a horrible headache."

"So take a potion." He was already moving past her, out into the sitting room. "I'll get you one."

"But…" Ginny breathed deeply, her hand moving down to the side of her head. She hadn't had a headache this bad in ages.

Draco returned a moment later, a small vial in his hand.

"What about dinner?" Ginny asked hoarsely. "If I take that, it'll put me to sleep." Which was the best thing, obviously, but for some reason, Ginny clung to this, having dinner with him. It was the one thing they still did together, almost every night, even if they never spoke.

Draco made a disparaging noise. "Take the damn potion. If you wake up later and you're hungry, the house-elves can get you something."

Reluctantly, Ginny took the vial from him. He was gone before she had finished downing the contents. Shuffling up to the head of the bed, Ginny placed the empty vial on the bedside table. She lay on her side, and before she could drift off, she shifted over a little, leaving room for Draco when he came to bed. A moment later, she was asleep again, her throbbing head resting against a soft pillow.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she woke again, but given that her head was no longer hurting, she thought it must have been several hours. There wasn't any light coming in from the adjoining room anymore, and there was such a stillness, a quiet, in the house, that she thought it must have been very late. Draco had probably come to bed already.

But when Ginny rolled over to look at him, he wasn't there.

A flat disappointment filled Ginny. She stared at the empty spot beside her. Where was he? Had he not gone to bed yet, after all? She hadn't planned this—she hadn't come to his bed with the intention of falling asleep—but she had to admit that, since it _had_happened, the thought of sleeping beside Draco again had cheered her a little.

Only, he wasn't here.

Moving quietly, Ginny slipped out of the bed. Someone had placed a small throw blanket over her as she'd slept, and she brought it with her, wrapping it around her shoulders.

He wasn't out in the adjoining sitting room. Frowning, Ginny wandered out, down to the end of the corridor. She peered down the short staircase, which led down to the parlor on the first floor. It was completely dark down there. In fact, as far as she could tell, there wasn't a light on anywhere. Where was Draco? Maybe shut up in his study?

She crept down the stairs and groped her way across to the grand staircase, holding on to the banister to guide her. She had nearly reached the staircase when she glanced aside. Then she stopped.

Draco was sleeping in the dark parlor. On the divan.

Ginny gaped at him for a moment. He was sleeping down _here? _He so couldn't stand the idea of sleeping with her, he was so horridly stubborn about it, that he was sleeping on the divan? It wasn't even comfortable!

But there he was, in his black t-shirt and trousers. He obviously hadn't even come into the bedroom to change into his silk pajamas. And it was bloody _cold _in the parlor, yet he was only half-covered by a large, thick quilt. Most of it lay on the floor, hanging off him.

Ginny tip-toed forward. He lay on his stomach, but his head was turned aside, so she could see his profile. It was hard to see in the dark, but Ginny thought he looked disgruntled in his sleep. Well, served him right, sleeping on the bloody divan.

Ginny sighed. She looked at him, for a moment, and then found herself settling down on the floor beside him, still watching him. Even with the disgruntled expression marring his face, there was something calm and peaceful about him in sleep. It was very unlike the Draco she had become used to seeing every day, the one whose very shoulders seemed to weigh him down, the one with the dark eyes and the grey, unsmiling face.

Ginny blinked sleepily. Her eyelids were becoming heavy, but she didn't want to get up, didn't want to leave him. Her head began slumping over, as sleep overtook her, and she didn't even remember lying down upon the floor, curled up in her blanket, as she drifted off.

The next time she woke—the fourth time, in fact, that she had woken in that twenty-four hour period—it was because of a sudden weight, a sharp pain, crushing into her middle. Gasping awake, Ginny half-sat up, clutching her stomach. She looked up and found Draco looming over her, cursing. That's when she realized why she'd woken up—he had stepped on her.

"Merlin, Weasley!" Draco snarled. "What the bloody hell are you _doing_, sleeping on the floor?"

Still rubbing her middle in pain, Ginny glared up at him in the darkness. "Stalking you," she muttered. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it and pushing it back from her face. When she looked up at Draco again, he was staring at her with the most peculiar expression on his face.

A memory suddenly hit Ginny, a memory from several years ago. She had been in St. Mungo's, after being hit with a bad curse during the attack on Diagon Alley. During the same attack that had, for all it mattered, claimed the life of Draco's mother. Draco had found her, Ginny, asleep on the hospital floor the next morning, and he had looked down at her then much like he was doing now.

The memory broke as a scowl came over his face. "Stalking me?" he echoed. "_Stalking _me? Bloody hell…" He ran a hand over his face.

"What are you doing up, anyway?" Ginny glanced out the windows. It was still very dark outside.

"I'm thirsty," Draco snapped. "Aren't I allowed to get up and get a glass of water in my own house?"

"Only if you get me one, too."

Draco rolled his eyes at her and stalked downstairs, muttering to himself as he went.

Ginny shivered. It was freezing in the parlor, especially on the floor. She pulled herself onto the divan, pulling the heavy quilt Draco had been using over her lap.

When Draco returned, he had only one glass of water with him, but he surprised Ginny when he handed it out to her. She supposed he had had his downstairs. He looked extremely grumpy. "Well, if you're sleeping out here on the floor," he said nastily, "then I can go sleep in _my _bed—"

"_Your _bed?" Ginny snapped, glaring at him.

"Well, you made it very clear it wasn't _you r_bed anymore, when you moved upstairs," Draco growled.

Ginny put her glass of water down on the low table at the end of the divan. Her frustration with him was reaching a peak, but at the same time, something inside her was thrilled, to be speaking this frankly with him, to be speaking with him at all. It had been so long since they'd spoken to each other. She wasn't sure why this was happening now. Perhaps it was the late hour, the darkness enclosing them. It breached their defenses, thinned the walls between them. Ginny had experienced this once before with Draco, the night he'd returned from France. She'd nearly kissed him that night, because everything was blurrier at such a late hour, the clear lines between them indistinct and fuzzy…

"That was more than a year ago," Ginny said in a low voice, her eyes narrowed at him.

"Oh, so you're saying you've changed your mind, then? Decided you could stand the sight of me after all?"

"_You're _the one who came down here to sleep on this bloody uncomfortable divan just to get away from me!"

"Merlin." Draco rubbed a hand over his eyes. He leaned over and made as though to grab the quilt. "I don't want to have this conversation with you right now, Weasley—"

Ginny's hand closed around his wrist. "So don't have it."

She'd meant those words to come out harsher, angrier, but they left her lips quietly and calmly. Draco froze, his eyes snapping up to her face. Ginny felt an odd sensation, low in her stomach, a fluttering feeling. It wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but it was something she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

She was suddenly aware of his skin beneath her grip, warm, burning. And she stared back at Draco, stared into his eyes. They were dark, but for once, dark with something other than pain and self-loathing. They were dark like a storm, dark with a deep, unspoken craving.

Ginny's heart was hammering in her chest. She kept waiting for him to break away, to turn his back on her. But the seconds ticked by, and he didn't move. He swallowed visibly, his gaze latched onto hers.

Then he shifted, but instead of moving away, he inched towards her. His free hand came forward, and he placed it on her knee. "Ginny…" he whispered. There was a pleading note in that single word, in her name, and she thought, maybe, he was half-asking her to let him go.

But he could feel it too, she was sure he could. It had been so long, since they'd spoken like this, and it had been so long, since they'd even kissed, since they'd touched…

She didn't know who moved first, or maybe they moved at the same time, her surging up towards him, he leaning down over her. But their lips met, and it was like fireworks exploding within Ginny, that finally, _finally_, he was hers again, if only for this moment.

With his wrist still locked in her grasp, he reached around and gripped _he r_wrist. He yanked her off the divan, bringing her onto her feet, and she stood on her tip-toes to kiss him, her hands wrapping around his neck. His lips moved against hers with such pleasurable force, teasing her lips open, thrusting his tongue within her mouth. The fluttering in the pit of Ginny's stomach was expanding, spreading a trembling throughout her body. She didn't think her legs would hold her up much longer, and she pressed herself as close to Draco as she could, one leg wrapping around behind his, inching up his calf…

Draco lifted her suddenly, hoisting her up, as though she were no heavier than a feather. Ginny's legs locked around his hips. One of his hands grazed the bare skin on her lower back, where her shirt had ridden up, and a shiver racked her whole body, her toes curling in pleasure.

Draco took several hasty steps back—maybe heading towards the stairs—but he backed right into a low coffee table and stumbled. Neither of them tried to steady themselves—neither was willing to let go of the other—so instead they just went down, allowing themselves to tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Draco ended up sitting upright on the floor, and Ginny had half-slid out of his grasp. But she was quick to crawl back over him, and she pushed him onto his back, her hands going beneath his black t-shirt, raking over his bare chest.

Draco groaned, and Ginny tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. She trailed hot, biting kisses down his bare chest, his skin burning beneath her lips as she moved further down, her hands at his waist. Before she could reach for the zipper on his trousers, though, he grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her up towards him, rolling them over.

As Ginny lay on her back, against the parlor floor, she suddenly realized she was still wearing far too much clothing. Draco seemed to agree, for, as she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, he went for the waistline of her sweats and swiftly pulled them down, and then tossed them aside, as negligently as she had done with his shirt.

Ginny wanted him back over her, kissing her, but he lingered at her ankle, pressing a scorching kiss into her skin there. He moved up her leg slowly, kissing her smooth calf, and then the back of her knee. She moaned as his tongue flickered out, running over the hollow of her skin there. Meanwhile, his hand traced up her other leg, mirroring the movements of his lips, tickling her behind her knee.

Ginny had to restrain herself from seizing him by the hair as he continued to move up. He placed a hand just above her knee, holding her buckling leg down, so his lips could travel up her inner thigh. He paused when he reached the base of her hip, and Ginny wanted to scream in frustration, but he pulled himself up and leaned over her now, his face level with hers. Ginny grabbed him by the head and pulled him down to her, kissing him with all the pent-up passion, rage, and sadness she'd harbored for the past year.

"Gin—" Draco's breath hitched in his throat as he broke free of her lips long enough to speak. Ginny didn't pause; she lifted her head a little and continued to trace kisses along his jaw. Meanwhile, her hands were busy below his waist, undoing the button and zippers of his trousers. "Ginny—I think—this might be…a bad idea…"

"No," Ginny breathed. She tugged at his trousers, pulling them down, and in spite of his own words, Draco was more than obliging as he helped her, kicking them off. "No, it can't be."

Apparently, Draco decided to agree. He bent his head down, his lips touching down on the spot just below her ear, and sucked on the skin there. Ginny let a sound that was half-gasp, half-moan. She couldn't take this much longer. Ignoring the tangled mess of her emotions—the gaping loneliness, the endless sadness, the burning anger—she lost herself in the feel of the two of them. They melded perfectly together, a fit that was just meant to be. She didn't care what he felt about her, what she felt towards him. She wanted him, _needed _him, and for now, that was enough.

* * *

Draco woke lazily as the pale morning light spilled in through the huge parlor windows. For a moment, he wasn't sure why he felt so warm, so content and at ease. Especially given that he was lying on something hard.

Then he remembered. He was lying on the floor. And Ginny was pressed into his side beneath a warm, heavy quilt.

For several minutes, he lay there, softly stroking her hair. She had let it grow very long over the past year, and it was thick and tangled and bright and beautiful, like rose petals scattered across his chest.

He managed to lie there for close to ten minutes, he thought, absorbing the peace and solace of being with her. But then the war within him stirred, the war that had been raging through him for the past year and a half. He never let Ginny see it—he liked to think she couldn't see it—through his mask of icy indifference. But inside, he was a war, of guilt and rage and pain and desire.

Moving carefully, he disentangled himself from her arms and her hair. She stirred a little—mumbling, her eyelids fluttering. She half-reached a hand out to him as he drew away.

"Shhh," he murmured. Crouching beside her, he made sure the quilt was drawn all the way over her. He tucked a strand of that beautiful hair behind her ear. "Shh, Ginny. Sleep."

She mumbled again, but almost immediately, she went still again, her breathing going soft and even. He watched her for a moment, making sure that she wasn't going to wake. Then he rose to his full height, gathered his clothes, and went up to his room to shower and change.

When he snuck through the parlor half an hour later, she was still asleep. It was still early for her—not half past eight—and he wagered she would sleep a good while longer. He hoped so, anyway.

He left the townhouse and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

The street was quiet this early in the morning, most of the shops not open yet. It was also very cold. Draco stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, idly wandering down the street. He eventually stopped for a cup of coffee and a breakfast scone in a little out of the way café, the same one he had once met a Polyjuiced Granger in. That seemed a very long time ago, much longer than the year and a half it had been.

He ran a hand over his face as he finished his coffee. He should not have slept with Ginny last night. He should not have even spoken to her as much as he had. But it had all felt so good—it had been so wonderful, for that brief time, to forget about all the pain he had caused, to drive it away. But she would expect more from him, she would want them to start to move past it. And Draco wasn't sure that he could.

As he stood to leave the café, he paused, remembering, again, the discussion he'd had here with Granger—not only about that blasted cup that she wanted from his aunt's vault, but about him, and about Ginny. A fragment of their conversation suddenly came to him, here, in this place.

_"I'm talking about what happened sixth year. You owe me for that."_

_"Am I to be paying for that for the rest of my life?"_

_"Yes. And if you can't understand why, then that only proves you can't be done paying for it, yet."_

_"Really? And when will I be, then?"_

_"When you reach a point where you yourself don't feel like you could ever be done paying for it."_

Draco had flinched, then, and he shuddered now, a dark chill overtaking his whole body. He felt that, now. That he could never be done paying for it all, for everything he had ever done. He wasn't sure when it had happened—when he had let Will go, maybe. It was as though letting his guilt over Will and Ginny in had opened the floodgates. Everything he had ever shut away, all his guilt and regret for every terrible thing, sprang at him. And it was so huge and heavy now that he couldn't shut it away anymore. It all haunted him, every minute of every day.

But none of it, none of it weighed on him so heavily as what he had done to Ginny, and to Will. He had put his son in danger. He had let his son go. He had hurt Ginny in the process, and continued to hurt her every day since then. And it killed him.

Draco left the café quickly. By now, it was past nine, and given that the holidays were upon them, the street was bustling, if not quite crowded. Draco bypassed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and continued back up the street.

He intended to head on back home, but he stopped just short of Flourish and Blotts. A little girl was wandering around outside the bookshop, looking lost and scared. She couldn't have been more than three years old. She had tangled black hair, and her eyes were filled with tears.

Draco stepped up to her and bent down to her level. "Hello," he said pleasantly. "Are you lost?"

Her brown eyes were wide as she looked at Draco. She nodded silently.

"Are you with someone? Your mum? Dad?"

She nodded fervently. "Daddy," she said, so quietly Draco almost couldn't hear her.

Draco looked around, but he didn't see anyone that looked like they might be the little girl's dad. "Were you in a shop?" he asked her. "Maybe the bookshop?"

The little girl didn't say anything; she didn't seem to know. Considering they were right outside Flourish and Blotts, Draco decided that that was his best bet. Taking the little girl by the hand, he took her inside the shop. They hadn't been in the shop more than a minute—Draco was just looking for a shop assistant who might help them—when someone called in a relieved voice, "Melanie!"

Relieved that that hadn't taken very long, Draco turned, the little girl—Melanie—in hand. Then he froze.

Because the man hurrying towards them—the man that little Melanie was now running towards, crying "Daddy!"—was someone Draco knew. Someone he hadn't seen in ten years.

It was Potter.

St. Harry bloody Chosen Boy-Who-Lived Potter.

It was a small mercy, perhaps, that Potter didn't see him right away. His stupid green toad eyes were all for the little girl—his _daughter?_—as she launched herself at him. "Mel! Are you all right? Where did—"

At that precise moment, Potter looked up. He saw Draco. And he went still, just as frozen as Draco was.

For one incredibly tense, horrible, shocked moment, they stared at each other. For his part, Draco thought he must be hallucinating. Having some horrible dream. Because Potter had been gone for years, Potter was in hiding, Potter could not possibly be standing right in front of him, in a bloody bookshop in the middle of Diagon Alley—

Then Potter recovered himself, and he stood, drawing his daughter close to him. He seemed fairly composed—which was surprising—but his eyes were angry. "Malfoy," he said, his voice shaking, "what on earth were you doing with my daughter?"

"Potter," Draco spat, overcome by a desire to strangle the stupid prat. He cursed whatever god had brought the specky git back into his life. "What on earth are you doing _here?_"

Potter took a step towards him. "I mean it, Malfoy, what were you doing with—"

"I _found_ her wandering around outside by herself," Draco snapped. "Maybe _you _should keep a better eye on her. She'd have been halfway down Knockturn Alley if it weren't for me."

Potter opened his mouth but then shut it, swallowing whatever hot retort he'd meant to say. He glanced down, smoothing a hand over his daughter's black hair.

Draco didn't wait for Potter to thank him; he knew he wouldn't, and even if he managed to, he didn't want to hear it anyway. So instead he repeated himself. "What are you doing here, Potter? I thought you were in hiding."

Potter snorted. "Worried about me, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, very concerned here. But what did—"

"I guess Ginny didn't tell you, then," Potter said coolly.

Draco shut his mouth and went still. He paused a moment before saying, "Tell me what?" What could _Ginny_ know about Potter? Or was the git just messing with him? But then, how did Potter even know Draco had anything to do with Ginny? _What did he know?_

"I paid her a visit not five months ago," Potter said, still in that damnably calm voice. "At your house. I was trying to figure out if it was safe for me to come back, see. I eventually decided it was. So now I'm here."

Draco stared at him, his blood boiling with fury. His face felt hot; his cheeks were flushed, he was sure, betraying his own anger. He tried to come up with something to say, something to wipe that self-satisfied expression off Potter's stupid face, but he couldn't get anything out, he was so angry.

"C'mon, Melanie," Potter said quietly, glancing down at his little girl. He started to steer her out of the shop, past Draco, but Draco shot a hand out and grabbed Potter by the arm.

"You—don't—" Draco started, still not sure what he was trying to say. His grip tightened around Potter's arm; he wanted to punch the stupid prat.

"Let go of me, Malfoy," Potter said. His voice was low and even, but something fierce lurked in his green eyes, something dangerous. Draco sneered at him; he wasn't just going to let Potter walk away like that—

"Daddy?" Draco and Potter both looked down. Little Melanie Potter was looking between her father and Draco, looking uncertain, even scared. Swallowing, Draco let go of Potter, pushing himself away, putting some distance between them. Potter shot him one last glare and then they were gone, out onto the street.

Draco was left standing there, alone, shaking with fury.

Somehow—at some point—he made it back down the street, out through the Leaky Cauldron. Somehow, he Apparated back home. He stormed inside the townhouse, slamming the door shut behind him. A quivering Tasher stood in the entrance hall to greet him, but the wise little house-elf took one look at his master, the master he'd known since boyhood, and fled the room.

"Ginny!" Draco yelled. "Where are you?"

When she did not answer straight away, he pounded up the stairs. He swept a quick glance around the parlor, but she wasn't there anymore. The house-elves had already tidied up after them, or maybe Ginny had, but the room was neat and pristine as usual. Draco set up the next set of stairs, pausing on the second floor landing.

"Malfoy?" Ginny's voice came floating out of the master suite at the end of the corridor. "Is that you? Did you say something?"

Draco stalked down the hall and into the master suite. As he slammed the sitting room door shut behind him, Ginny stepped out from the bathroom, wrapped in a short robe. Draco forced his gaze away from her damp, shapely legs and looked up into her face. She looked puzzled as she toweled off her wet hair.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

Draco tried several times to speak, but it took him a few moments before he could without shouting incomprehensibly. "What," he finally managed, his voice shaking with barely-suppressed anger, "was _Potter_ doing at _my _house?"

Ginny blinked. Then she went quite pale. The expression on her face was enough to send Draco over the edge, confirmation that Potter hadn't just been spouting off nonsense. Furious, he turned away from her and slammed a fist into the wall.

"Draco—Draco," she said. She sounded quite unlike her usual self; her words were tentative and apologetic. "I'm sorry—I should've told you—"

"You _think?_ You think you should have told me that Potter was in my bloody _house?_"

"But I knew you'd react this way," she said, and now he could tell her own temper was flaring, "and, if you'll recall, we weren't exactly speaking at the time—"

"I don't know why we're bloody speaking now," he growled.

"But how did—Draco, did you _see _him? Has he come back?" she demanded.

Draco spun around to face her. He had to study her expression for several long seconds, assure himself that there was nothing eager or excited or happy in her expression as she asked after Potter. But there was nothing but a slight frown creasing her forehead as she stood there, waiting for his response.

Feeling slightly—_very_ slightly—mollified, Draco nodded. "I just saw him in Diagon Alley," he said stiffly. "With his _daughter_," he added bitterly.

"With his _what?_" Draco was surprised to see that this was news to Ginny; she gaped at him soundlessly for a moment before saying, "You're joking! But—that's—_really?_ How old is she? _Whose _is she? Why didn't he tell me, he didn't say a word!"

Draco sighed. The anger was beginning to drain out of him; it was too exhausting to keep it up. He slumped down onto the small loveseat in the room, stretching his legs out in front of him. "She looked about three, I've no idea who her mother is, if that's what you mean, and I don't know why—what _did _he say to you?" he demanded, glaring up at her. "What was he doing here?"

Ginny blinked, apparently still getting over the shock of Potter having a daughter. "I—what? Oh." She shook herself slightly. "Well, he wanted to know how things were here…not _here_, in the house, but back among the wizarding world. Apparently, he's been on the move for the past few years, so he had no idea what's been going on. He just wanted to know if it was safe for him to come back."

Draco rubbed a hand over his forehead. "And you couldn't have told him it wasn't?"

"I really didn't tell him anything of the sort, either way," she said coolly. She flicked her long, damp hair back over her shoulder, spraying him with a few water droplets. "He decided for himself, I suppose."

Draco grunted. Now that the tide of his anger was ebbing away, all those other problems—the problems that had driven him from Ginny's side that morning—were coming back to the forefront of his mind. It suddenly struck him how easy this was, being in the same room with her, talking with her, arguing with her, just like they had so many times in the past. He swallowed, looking anywhere but at her. They couldn't go on like this, like nothing had happened. He couldn't do it, he couldn't.

Ginny, however, had other ideas, or so he thought when she seated herself opposite him on the loveseat. She took a deep breath. "The thing is," she said evenly, fixing him with a square gaze, "I don't know how you can lecture me for not telling you about Harry, when you never told me about Blaise being alive and well at your old manor."

_Tha t_was probably the last thing Draco had expected her to say. It was like she had punched him in the gut. For a moment, he was sure he hadn't heard her right, because she said it so matter-of-factly, and how could she be so blasé about this? Draco felt dazed.

"I—you—what?" he said weakly.

The look she spared him was derisive. "Yes, Draco, I know that Blaise is alive, or at least, that he was. I know that you found out at the Riddle House, and I know that you helped hide him at your manor." She took a deep breath. "And I know I must seem a horrible bitch springing this on you now, but, well, really I should have said something a long time ago."

"Why—" Draco shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose "—the hell _didn't _you? How long have you known?"

"Since we got married," she said simply. In spite of her casual tone, Draco opened his eyes and saw that her jaw was set firmly, her eyes blazing as she looked at him. "There was a breach at the manor—you didn't hear? Blaise—or maybe it was Hermione, that actually seems more likely—had done a spell in the kitchen there. I heard about it, and I went to investigate. And I found Blaise there."

"You found Blaise there," he repeated flatly. His pulse quickened. For he remembered, in an instant, why he had been so terrified to have Ginny discover Blaise alive, even if he hadn't really wanted to admit it to himself at the time. "And did you have a nice little reunion with _Blaise?_"

"Don't you take that tone!" Ginny snapped. She leapt to her feet, and yes, she _was_ angry. That mild tone had been a ruse. "How dare you take the high ground on this? Why wouldn't you tell me that he was alive, Draco? You _know _what I had done to myself, to my life, looking for him—"

"Yeah, and you were finally past it!" Draco shouted, getting to his feet as well. "Maybe I didn't want to bring it all up again, did you ever think of that? Maybe I wanted to spare you that—"

Ginny laughed scornfully. "Oh, please. Like you were thinking at all about _me_, about what was best for me when you decided to keep it all a big secret."

"I was, actually," Draco seethed. He stared down at her, anger boiling his blood. "I was thinking of _nothing _except you when I decided to keep it a secret, I was thinking of how I couldn't face losing you over that stupid prat Zabini! And you're a bloody stupid idiot if you didn't realize that!"

Ginny's mouth was open, a half-formed retort on her tongue. But as his words seemed to hit her, she stopped short, falling silent. She stared at him wordlessly for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then—

"That's what Blaise said." Her voice was impassive. "About why you didn't tell me."

"Well, at least he wasn't as stupid as you," Draco snarled. He sat back on the loveseat. He was breathing heavily, and part of him was reeling from what he'd just said. Considering how he'd been thinking he needed to go back to not speaking with Ginny, he was not doing a very good job of it now, blurting out things like that.

"_Isn't_," Ginny corrected. Her cheeks were pink. "You don't know that he's dead now."

"Oh, and you're just hoping he's still alive, aren't you? Hoping you'll get a chance at another reunion with him?"

"Of course I hope he's alive," Ginny said, and her voice was quiet, but still angry. "Of course. Am I supposed to hope that he's dead? Do _you_hope that he's dead?"

Draco bit his tongue, forcing himself silent for a moment. Then he said, "No. I don't. But, Ginny—"

"Look, in the end, he turned out to be an even bigger prat than you, all right?" She sighed, and she seemed to deflate, as she collapsed onto the loveseat beside him. She was sitting much closer to him than he would have liked, leaning in towards him. "But, Draco, I just wished you'd told me. I _was _over him, just like you said. You should've known that," she said reproachfully.

Draco struggled with his response for a moment. Finally, he said abruptly, "I'm sorry. I should've told you." He frowned. "What do you mean, he turned out to be a big prat?"

"It doesn't matter." She suddenly sounded very tired, and she leaned forward, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Merlin help him, but he probably _is _dead now. I don't suppose they have any reason to keep him alive anymore. Unless…" She trailed off, biting her lip.

"Unless what?" Draco prompted. He couldn't help himself; he leaned towards her, just a bit.

She sighed. "Nothing. Never mind. It doesn't matter." She shook her head. "God, but it all seems like a lifetime ago, anyway."

Draco nodded absently. "Yeah," he said quietly, "it does."

She looked up at him, and as their eyes met, Draco knew, in that instant, that she was thinking of Will, just like he was. For a moment, a look of such anguish passed through her eyes, and then it was gone. But he had seen it, and he had felt it, like his own, reflected within himself.

So in spite of everything he'd told himself—everything he'd resolved—when Ginny leaned over, and rested her head against his chest, Draco didn't push her away. And when she turned her head, and buried her face in his shirt, he dropped his arm and locked it around her, tightening his grip around her shoulders. Afraid to let go. Afraid that, if he did, he would lose her, too.

"Draco," she said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her.

"Yes?"

"Please—" Her breath caught for a moment, and then she said, "Please—let's not go back to not speaking to each other. _Please_." Her voice dropped, until she spoke in no more than a whisper. "I can't stand it."

Draco nodded slowly. He ignored the guilt worming through him, eating away at the remains of his soul, and rested his cheek against the top of her head. "Okay," he agreed.

* * *

_December 2007_

Two weeks had passed since Draco had first run into Potter in Diagon Alley, and though he had not seen the prat since, he had to stand hearing about him wherever he went. His return was in the papers, everyone was talking about him at the Ministry. Draco didn't see the Weasleys as much without Will, but when he did, they were all over talking about him too, not only because he was like a bloody adopted son to them, but because he had brought them news of Ron Weasley, who had apparently been with Potter this whole time, just as Ginny had claimed. He hadn't returned with Potter though—which was a small mercy—because he had gone off months ago looking for Granger.

"Bloody idiot," Draco had muttered, when Ginny had told him this. "And didn't he realize that if he came _back _here, it would be all over everywhere and Granger would know where he was? Merlin."

Ginny had only looked at him, amused, and said nothing.

In fact, the only person Draco _didn't _hear talking about Potter was Ginny, at home. He was sure that she had seen him, and spoken to him; they had probably had a bloody dinner at the Burrow, for all Draco knew. But she wisely remained silent on the issue at home. And so, for the first time in a year and a half, Draco's home became a refuge for him. The only place he could relax, the only place he could stop scowling.

Unfortunately, his life would not remain Potter-less for long.

Three weeks before Christmas, Draco received a Floo call from Tonks, who informed him that he was wanted at the Auror Office for questioning, straight away. Given that it was nine o'clock in the evening and Draco was about to dress for bed, he couldn't believe the gall.

"Do you know what time it is?" he demanded of Tonks, whose head was floating in the fireplace in the parlor. Her hair was an extremely normal blonde today, which Draco found disconcerting. "What can they want me for questioning for, at this hour?"

Ginny, who was curled up on the divan, flipped a page in her magazine. "It's probably something important," she said, without looking up, "considering how late it is." She didn't sound worried, but there was a faint line creasing her forehead.

"I'm not sure what it's about exactly, but I suspect…" Tonks paused. "Well. I'm fairly certain you're not in any trouble. I think they're just looking for some information."

"About what?" Draco groused.

"Come in and you'll see," Tonks quipped. Then she was gone before Draco could complain any further.

"Bloody infuriating," Draco muttered. Nevertheless, he tossed some Floo powder into the fire and was off to the Ministry, leaving Ginny alone with the house-elves at the townhouse.

He arrived in the Atrium, which was practically deserted at this hour, though there was a wizard at the security desk. Draco took the lift up to Level Two and entered Auror Headquarters.

Inside, he was met with a flurry of activity. Aurors were writing memos furiously at their desks, consulting with each other over the tops of their cubicles, dashing back and forth along the corridor. Draco took a step in and narrowly dodged a memo zooming by his head.

Tonks' cubicle was way at the back of the room, but Draco was in luck, for no sooner had he arrived than Tonks came hurrying up the corridor, speaking rapidly to Carmichael about something. When she spotted Draco, she took him by the shoulder and ushered him down the way.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Draco demanded. "You'd think Azkaban has split in half or something."

"Well, approximately, that _is _what's happened." Tonks rubbed a hand over her eyes as she nodded for Draco to seat himself at her desk.

"I thought I was here for questioning?" Draco frowned as he seated himself. "Why am I not in an interrogation room?"

"Well, I told you, it's not really about you. In fact, I think you're here more for _consulting _than questioning, per se." Tonks bent down and busily began writing a memo with a quill from her desk. "I don't know all the details. Just wait here, he'll be with you in a moment."

"Hang on," Draco objected, as Tonks prepared to charge off. "I'm not talking with you? Who is it, then?"

Tonks hesitated. "Well—" She glanced around, and then pointed and nodded. "Him."

Draco followed her line of sight, to a man who was speaking with two Aurors as they looked over a file. His jaw dropped.

She was pointing straight at Potter.

"Potter!" Draco hissed. "What is _he _doing here? He's not an Auror!"

"No, but he is Harry Potter, which I think ranks him over the Minister of Magic," Tonks said humorously. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but you wouldn't have come if I had, you know you wouldn't."

"Too right I wouldn't! And I won't—Tonks! _Tonks!_"

But she had run off, knocking into several other people as she went. Draco was just about to get to his feet and leave when Potter finished with the two Aurors and glanced over. And spotted him.

Cursing under his breath, Draco lowered himself back into his seat. He glared at Potter with as much truculence as he could muster, as the bloody Chosen One hero came towards him, sighed, and seated himself opposite Draco.

"Hullo, Malfoy," he said.

Draco didn't say anything. He merely crossed his arms over his chest and glared even more fiercely. He thought he was going to go cross-eyed.

Potter sighed again. "Look, I know it's late and you don't want to be here—"

"No, really?" Draco snapped.

"—but the thing is," Potter said mildly, "I thought it would be a good idea if you could come in and help us out."

"Help _us_ out?" Draco sneered. "You're no Auror, Potter. In fact, you've spent the past nine years in a hidey-hole looking after your own arse. So where does this _us _come in?"

If Draco had gotten to him with his "hiding" comment, Potter didn't show it. He merely looked resigned. "I've been asked to consult. And that's all I'm asking of you, really. You see, there's been a mass breakout of Death Eaters at Azkaban."

Draco blinked. His first feeling was one of panic—_what_ Death Eaters, and who would they hit first? His annoyance, however, returned almost immediately. "Another mass breakout? I know that we don't have Dementors anymore, but maybe the Ministry should bloody _do_something about Azkaban, if we keep having all these mass breakouts!"

"I'm sure Kingsley is looking into it," Potter said. He looked faintly amused. "Maybe you could consult on that too, Malfoy. After all, you spent a few years in Azkaban. You could give an insider's perspective."

Draco closed his eyes and willed himself not to hex the specky git.

"Anyway," Potter went on, "since you know a lot of the Death Eaters better than most of us, I thought you could be of some help."

Draco stared at him for a moment, trying to come up with some reasonable excuse to get himself out of this. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night talking with Potter. On the other hand, if Death Eaters really had broken out of Azkaban, then he wanted them dead or back behind bars as soon as possible. Especially given—

"Hang on," Draco said suddenly. "Who all escaped? Was my aunt Bellatrix one of them?"

Potter nodded wearily.

Draco swallowed. He tried to keep himself still, not wanting to betray the surge of alarm rushing through him. "All right, Potter," he said. "I'll help you, but on one condition."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"You get some bloody protection over to my townhouse," Draco growled, "and to Lillian's Moon's place. I don't care if it's Aurors or Order people. But the last time I spoke to my aunt, she threatened Ginny and my son, and I want them protected before I tell you anything."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Thank you for reviewing!


	12. Chapter Ten

**Author's Chapter Notes:**  
Here is the next chapter! Only one chapter and a very short epilogue after this. I still haven't written the epilogue, or the last scene of the last chapter, so it'll likely be another week before I get the end up. If it's going to be longer, I'll update on my fic journal – (livejournal username – rainywinters). I will likely also tweet updates. I'm elizabethkking on Twitter.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Ginny finished reading her magazine about ten minutes after Draco left. She tossed it aside, stood up, and yawned. It was still early, so far as she was concerned, and she was just thinking that maybe she would take a long bath before bed when the doorbell rang.

Frowning, Ginny headed down into the entrance hall. Neither of the house-elves were there. Ginny looked through the peephole, but there was no one there.

Immediately put on her guard, Ginny took out her wand, and opened the door.

For a moment, she stared out into the night. It was extremely cold out, a harsh wind driving by. Then the air in front of Ginny rippled, and a man appeared, his wand raised over his head as he removed his Disillusionment Charm.

It was Blaise.

Ginny was so astonished that she nearly dropped her wand. "_Blaise? _What're—how—what are you—"

"Look, Weasley." Blaise looked rather resigned. It was only then that she noticed he was dressed all in black garb, the hood of his cloak the only thing pulled back from his face. "I'm here on official business. But you're going to want to come with me. Because it's about your son."

* * *

Draco sighed, rubbing a hand at his temple. "This is bloody useless!" he burst out. "I don't _know _where they'd go. I don't know what they want! I haven't been a Death Eater in years, Potter, and in case you didn't know, they all hate me now. They don't go around confiding all their plans in me."

Potter looked just as tired, and frustrated, as he was. "Look, you said you spoke to your aunt," he said wearily. "When was that, again?"

"Over a year ago."

"And she didn't give any indication about what her plans might be? What she would want to do, if she escaped?"

"Aside from killing my family? No, she didn't." Draco scowled. "You know, they probably broke out because of _you_, Potter. Only, your return to the wizarding world wasn't exactly kept quiet, was it? They probably all broke out to kill you." A sudden inspiration struck him. "That would make sense, actually, because when I spoke to my aunt, I told her that Granger was—"

"Potter." Draco and Potter both looked around as an Auror came up to them. With a sense of apprehension, Draco noted that he was the same one Potter had spoken to about getting protection to the townhouse and Lillian Moon. He looked between Potter and Draco and finally spared a jerky nod for Draco. "Mr. Malfoy. Aurors were dispatched to your place of residence fifteen minutes ago—"

"The townhouse, you mean?"

"Yes, but when they arrived, no one was there. One of your house-elves said they couldn't find your wife in the house, but neither of them were aware that she had left, either. Would it be normal for her to have left the house at this time of night?"

"No." Uneasily, Draco exchanged a glance with Potter, whose brow was furrowed in puzzlement. "But then, Ginny always does what she wants, no matter what time it is."

"Did she say she was going anywhere when you left?" Potter asked.

Draco shook his head. "She was just reading a magazine. I figured she'd be going to bed soon."

"Well, there was no sign of struggle or anything amiss," the Auror reported. "Would she have—"

"Harry!" Tonks suddenly lurched through the crowd and appeared at the desk. Her face was white, and her eyes latched onto Draco's face. "Draco—you're still here—good—I mean, no, it's not good, not at all—"

There was something so familiar about the look on her face, something so horribly familiar, that Draco experienced a terrible moment of _déjà vu_. He was on his feet before he even realized it. "What is it?" he demanded. "Tonks, what happened?"

She broke her gaze from his, looking at Potter. "Aurors were dispatched to Lillian Moon's house, and the Order was on sight, too, Remus and Dean—"

Draco banged a fist down on the desk. "Damn it, Tonks, _what happened?_"

Tonks looked gravely between the two of them, and then, with a sigh, settled her gaze on Draco. "He's gone, Draco. Will—he's been taken."

* * *

Harry emerged through the fireplace at Malfoy's townhouse, coughing a bit on the ash. He blinked and found himself in some sort of parlor on the first floor.

"But it doesn't make sense," Malfoy was saying, his tone argumentative. Harry looked around and saw that the blond man had already resumed their discussion, for he was glaring at Harry as he spoke. "Where would she have gone? _Why?_"

"I don't know," Harry said wearily. He walked past Malfoy and crossed the room, peering over the banister. The Aurors on sight were downstairs, in the entrance hall. As Harry headed downstairs to join them, Malfoy followed. Harry tossed him a glance over his shoulder.

"Look, I'm not saying it's just a coincidence," Harry said, "though it well could be."

"Yes, well, I'd rather not assume so, considering the circumstances—"

"I _know_, Malfoy, will you let me finish?" Harry said crossly. "Look, maybe she went after them. I don't know why she wouldn't contact us first, let us know, but isn't that what she did the last time your son was kidnapped? Didn't she go after the Death Eaters on her own?"

"Yeah, but she knew where they were last time because I'd told her." Draco scrubbed a hand through his already-mussed hair, as they came out into the entrance hall. "Because _I_knew where they were."

"Do you know where the Death Eaters are this time?" Harry asked coolly. As he spoke, the group of Aurors in the room went silent. All of them swiveled around to stare at Malfoy expectantly, just as Harry was.

Malfoy stared blankly at them for a moment, and then seemed to realize what they were waiting for. His pale cheeks went pink. "No, I don't know where they are!" he burst out. "Don't be ridiculous. And I didn't—I didn't _know _where they were last time, either. I just had a—a hunch, is all."

"Well, that's the story, anyway," one of the Aurors muttered.

"Potter, I'd tell you if I knew anything," Malfoy said, addressing Harry alone now. Surprisingly, he didn't sound argumentative so much as desperate. "You have to believe me. Ginny and Will, they're worth too much for me to lie about this—"

"I know, Malfoy, I believe you," Harry cut in. "Anyway, if these are the Death Eaters who just escaped from Azkaban, then your father probably isn't with them. He's been out of the country, after all, and probably still is."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was thinking over something very hard. Then, abruptly, he grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him around, so that their backs were turned to the Aurors. "Actually," he said, his voice pitched low, so that only Harry could hear, "that's not true. My father's back in the country. Or he was, about a year ago."

Harry stepped aside, forcing Malfoy to let go of his arm. He tossed a quick glance back at the Aurors, who were discussing amongst themselves, leaving Malfoy to Harry. Then he turned back to Draco. "How do you know this, Malfoy?" he demanded. "Did you speak to him?"

"Yes," Malfoy said unabashedly. "So did Ginny, for that matter. But," he went on, before Harry could voice his disbelief at this, "I don't think he's with these Death Eaters, either. Or, if he is, I don't think he was in on this. He got what he wanted with Will when I gave him up to Lillian Moon."

Harry shook his head, trying to take all this in. "Malfoy, I don't understand what you—"

"Master Malfoy!" Both Harry and Draco looked around as one of the house-elves—Tasher, Harry thought his name was—came scurrying down the main staircase towards them. He stopped on the bottom step and made a quick, low bow to Malfoy. "Master Malfoy, you is getting a Floo call in your private sitting room, Master Malfoy. In the master suite, Master Malfoy."

"In my sitting room?" Malfoy looked momentarily puzzled, but then his expression cleared. "It might be—hang on, Potter, I've got to take this. I'll be right back." And before Harry could object, he charged up the stairs behind Tasher.

Harry sighed and turned back to the Aurors in the entrance hall. They began to fill him in on everything that had happened, everything they knew about Will's kidnapping and Ginny's disappearance. One of them mentioned that the house-elves had seemed a little vague upon questioning, and might have had Memory Charms cast upon them, explaining why they wouldn't even remember Ginny leaving.

Harry was just thinking he should go upstairs, Malfoy's privacy be damned, and see who had Flooed him when another Auror hurried in through the front door, which stood open. "Potter!" he exclaimed, as he came in and spotted Harry. "We've gotten word on the Death Eaters' location! And, blimey, but you'll never believe the source—"

"Forget the source." Harry looked around, and saw that Malfoy had returned; he was hurrying down the steps towards them. "If we know where they are, then let's get going. But—" He turned towards Harry, a grim, satisfied expression on his face. "You might want to make a stop first. We have to pick someone up."

* * *

Ginny struggled uselessly against the bonds securing her wrists together behind her back. She had lost track of time, tied up and locked in this small, dark closet. She had no idea if mere minutes had passed, or if it had been hours—her fear for Will drove everything else out of her mind.

Blaise had been sent to her by the Death Eaters. Every time she thought of Blaise, a flash of fury blazed through her, momentarily taking place of the fear. At first, when he'd told her that Death Eaters had escaped from Azkaban and taken Will, she had thought he was there to warn her, to let her know. But then the real truth had come out—the Death Eaters had sent him to get her. To take her by force, if necessary, though they had likely known that holding Will captive was enough to convince her to come, without alerting anyone else.

And so Blaise had been sent to fetch her, and fetch her he did, like an obedient little lapdog. She still didn't know if he had done so because he was really a Death Eater, or if he was just a captive, doing what he was told to stay alive. The former seemed more likely at this point, but Ginny really didn't care. All she cared about was Will.

The door suddenly wrenched open, and Ginny winced as light spilled in through the opening, momentarily blinding her. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her eyes to adjust. Before they did, however, she heard someone mutter, "_Relashio._" The ropes tying her wrists fell away, and then, just as she caught sight of a tall figure standing before her, a much smaller person hurtled through the doorway, crying, "Mummy!"

"Will?" Ginny gasped. She caught him as he launched himself into her now free arms. "Will, it is you!" she cried, holding him tightly to her. His little arms locked around her neck. Tears instantly welled in her eyes, but she didn't want to cry; she didn't want him to be upset. So she bit her tongue and just held him against her, adamant she wouldn't let go.

She didn't know how long she held him, until finally, she managed to hold him back, to get a good look at him. He had grown so much, _so much_, in the past seventeen months. He was no longer a toddler, but a sturdy little boy. She ran her fingers through his fine blond hair, cut shorter than she'd usually kept it, and put a hand to his face. She looked for any sign that he wasn't okay, that he'd been harmed, but he was whole and healthy. There was fear on his face, but he wasn't crying, and he smiled to see his mother again.

"Mummy, can we go home now?" Will asked.

Ginny swallowed, half-astonished at how well he spoke now, and half-afraid, for she was quite sure they would not be allowed to go home now. For the first time, she looked over Will's shoulder and looked up at the person standing in the doorway, the person who had cut her bonds and brought Will to her.

It was Blaise.

In spite of the tear tracks on her face, Ginny hardened her gaze. "Well, Blaise," she said coolly. "Can we go home now?"

The expression on Blaise's face was unreadable. "It's not that easy, unfortunately," he said. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, and when he looked around at her again, a line of concern creased his forehead. "Listen, Ginny, I'll do what I can to keep you and Will safe, but I don't know how long I can hold them off."

Ginny blinked in surprise. "What do you care about us?" she demanded.

Blaise rolled his eyes at her. "Don't be stupid, Weasley. I don't want to see you hurt, or him." He nodded at Will, who, mirroring his mother, was glaring at Blaise. "But you have to understand…I don't hold much clout with them, and Bellatrix—she's the one who's spearheaded all this. And she's angry, Ginny, she's really angry."

Ginny shook her head. "I don't suppose she needs a reason, but _why _is she angry?"

"She's angry at Draco," Blaise said simply. "Look, once upon a time she might have wanted to use you or Will to get Draco to fall in line, but she's past that, far past that. She doesn't want Draco on their side anymore. She just wants to hurt him, and she knows the easiest way to get to him is through his family."

Ginny swallowed. She didn't let any of her fear show on her face, because she didn't want Will to be afraid. But if what Blaise said was true, then they had no chance, no chance at all. If Bellatrix wanted to hurt Draco, then she would kill them. It was only a matter of time. Only a matter of whether she would wait until Draco arrived, to make him watch, or if she would kill them now, and leave them to be found by him.

She met Blaise's eyes, and saw that he was thinking the same thing she was. "We'll have to try to delay her," he said, "but it won't be easy. Still—" He smiled grimly, though there was no mirth in his eyes. "I've still got a card to play. Something she doesn't know."

"What?" Ginny demanded.

Blaise shook his head. "Never mind. Look, I have to take you to them. Let's go before she sends someone out here to see what's taking so long."

But Ginny grabbed Will and turned him around to face her, taking his little face in her hands. "Will, listen to me," she said, speaking quickly, but trying to force a reassuring note in her words, "we're going to go with Blaise now. And there's…going to be some people out there. Some people who aren't very nice. But I don't want you to be scared, all right? Because we're going to be okay. All right?"

Will nodded. He still looked scared but, Ginny noted with fierce pride, he didn't cry. He never had cried much.

"Good." Ginny kissed his head. "Because we're going to be brave, aren't we? Can you be brave with me?"

He nodded again. "Yes, Mummy," he whispered.

Ginny swallowed. He looked so fiercely determined, so determined to be brave, and it nearly broke her heart. Because she knew—no matter how much she tried to deny it—that there was very little chance of either of them getting out of here alive. "Good. And no matter what—_no matter what_—you just hold on to me, all right? Don't let go of me. And—and that will all be over soon—" She fought to keep her voice steady "—and then we can go home. We can go home, to your dad. Okay?"

Will nodded again.

"Good." He was perfectly capable of walking, Ginny knew, but she took him up in her arms anyway as she stood. She looked at Blaise. "Let's go."

Blaise led them out, down a dark corridor, which opened up into a large room. Ginny had no idea where they were—it was obviously a house of some sort, and one much smaller than the Riddle House, but that was all she could deduce.

As they came out into the large room, which was full of Death Eaters, Ginny felt that she had never been more afraid in her life. Not for herself—but for Will. Because she had no wand, she had no way of fighting against so many Death Eaters on her own. She half-hoped to see Lucius Malfoy in the crowd, because if he was there, that was at least one more person who cared enough about Will to try and save him. But he wasn't there.

Bellatrix Lestrange, however, was.

"Well, well," she said with relish, as they came into the room. Her eyes alighted on Ginny and Will with such hunger and hatred that Ginny shivered. She shifted Will in her arms, so that he was facing the other way, over her shoulder. "And here they are," Bellatrix purred. "Draco's little family."

Many of the Death Eaters in the room laughed. Blaise stood behind Ginny with three other Death Eaters, blocking her way back down the corridor, to other parts of the house.

"You wouldn't believe how easy it was to get them here, either," Bellatrix said, still addressing the rest of the Death Eaters, though her eyes remained on Ginny and Will. "Especially the boy. His dear grandmum was most cooperative, you see. Why, all we had to do was knock on the door, and she handed him right over to us."

Ginny swallowed. She didn't know how true that was, but it wouldn't have surprised her if it was perfectly accurate. She had never trusted that Lillian Moon was capable of protecting Will the way she was, the way Draco was.

"And as for the little Weasley—" Bellatrix's deranged smile widened "—well, of course, when she heard we had the boy, she was only so willing to come along and join us. Isn't that right, Zabini?" Her eyes lifted, looking over Ginny's shoulder at Blaise.

If Blaise made any indication of assent or agreement, Ginny didn't see it. She refused to turn her back on Bellatrix.

"And now we have them here," Bellatrix said. The smile disappeared from her face, and her dark eyes narrowed. "The perfect place for Draco to come and find them. Or find what's _left _of them, anyway."

Through the murmurs of agreement and dark chuckles that followed, Blaise's voice sounded out, clearly audible throughout the room. "Oughtn't we to wait?" His tone was bored, his words spoken without haste or urgency.

The room went quiet. Bellatrix turned to him with an eyebrow raised in an expression of contempt. "Wait? Wait for what?"

"For Draco," Blaise said. Ginny had to admit that, for someone who had claimed to do whatever the Death Eaters asked out of fear for his own life, Blaise spoke as if he weren't the least bit afraid of Bellatrix. In fact, he made it very clear, through his tone, that he thought Bellatrix not very bright. "You know, so that we can make him watch? Won't that be better?"

Ginny flinched. She knew Blaise had said he would try to delay Bellatrix, but hearing him say it still troubled her.

"No," Bellatrix snapped. "That was our mistake last time. Holding them captive, trying to lure Draco here. And what happened then? He came, and with him came the Aurors," she spat. "Aurors he led straight to us, the little traitor. Because _that's _who Draco is these days."

She looked quite mad, working herself into a frenzy over Draco. She began pacing, her face twisted with hatred, her eyes glittering with malice. "There was once a time when I thought Draco could still be useful to us," she seethed. "When I thought he might return to us. But there's no hope for that now," she said bitterly. "That Draco is gone. Now, he runs to the Aurors for help, now he does work for the _Order_. The Order of the Phoenix."

Angry muttering from the Death Eaters filled the room. Ginny wished Blaise would interrupt her, before she could keep going, but Blaise was silent.

"_Now_—" Bellatrix stopped in her tracks, and turned her gaze on Ginny. "Now," she said softly, "he's married a blood traitor. _Now_, he consorts with Mudbloods and our enemies, _now_, he seeks to help Potter." Her eyes were so wildly cruel that Ginny almost couldn't look at her any longer. "Now, he works to help Potter bring down the Dark Lord."

Ginny had no idea what she was talking about—that last bit was so absolutely untrue, it was ridiculous—but she couldn't really care, at this point. The angry mutterings in the room had ceased; the Death Eaters had gone still. Now, all they did was stare at Ginny in silence, their gazes murderous.

"So there will be no waiting," Bellatrix said quietly. "As much as I'd love to torture his little family for _hours_, as much as I'd love to make him watch—there is no time for that. Because, even as we speak, Draco is probably on his way, with Aurors and Order members to back him up."

"But don't you think—" Blaise started.

"I think that that's enough out of you!" Bellatrix snapped at him. "How strange, Zabini, for you had been so…compliant, until now. Perhaps you are having seconds thoughts? Perhaps you don't want the little Weasley girl dead after all?"

"That's not what I meant," Blaise said angrily. "I just thought—"

"Good," Bellatrix interrupted him. "If you have no problem seeing her dead, Zabini, then step forward." Her dark eyes gleamed. "I want you to do it."

A shocked silence filled the room. Ginny found she was holding her breath. She wanted to turn around, to look at Blaise, but she didn't dare. Then—after a moment's pause—Blaise stepped forward, coming around Ginny.

Ginny found herself shaking. She tried to tell herself that it would be all right, that he wouldn't actually do it. He'd said he would help them, wouldn't he? But all she could hear was his own words, echoing back in her mind. _You said it yourself, Ginny. That I did what I did to keep myself alive….Malfoy…if he'd been in my position, he would've done the exact same thing. If he'd been offered the choice of death or rejoining the Death Eaters, he'd have done it in a heartbeat, and you be damned._

He was wrong about Malfoy. Draco would never let the Death Eaters kill them to save his own skin.

But what about Blaise?

For a moment, Blaise faced her, his wand in his hand. The expression on his face was peculiar. For a moment, Ginny couldn't place it, couldn't identify what she saw there.

Then she realized it. It was an expression full of regret.

Blaise raised his wand.

And then he turned, pointing it straight at Bellatrix.

Bellatrix instantly raised her wand against him, but neither of them moved, neither of them cast a curse. Bellatrix looked furious, but also confused. "What are you doing, you little cretin?" she snarled.

"You must think I'm an idiot," Blaise said. He was breathing hard, as if he'd just run a very far distance. His voice was so full of fury that he sounded a little deranged himself. "Thinking that I'll just fall in line, do whatever you say. For what? So that you won't kill me?"

"I will kill you," Bellatrix growled. "I'll kill you now if you don't—"

"Go ahead! You've already killed me, haven't you?" Blaise laughed a hollow laugh; it was a terrible sound, a dead sound, as though coming from a corpse. "Malfoy told me, Bellatrix. Lucius. He told me about the poison. He told me there's no cure, and he told me your little antidote won't work forever. How long would you say I've got, even if you _don't _kill me now? Maybe a year?"

Ginny stared at him in horror. What was he _talking _about? Lucius Malfoy? A poison? What could he mean, he only had a year to live? That couldn't be true, he was there, right there, standing on his own, tall and healthy and able—

But she didn't have time to finish the thought, and neither Blaise nor Bellatrix had time to give any further explanation. Because right then, a tremendous _bang!_sounded out, like an explosion. The whole house shook, and Ginny fell to her knees, clutching Will to her, placing a hand over his head to protect him. She tried to look up, to see what was going on, but then, as the house shook again, the lights in the room stuttered and went out. Darkness enveloped them all.

The Death Eaters were shouting, running around. Ginny felt someone push past her. Terrified they would be trampled, Ginny took a few steps back, still holding Will to her. If she could just get to the corridor—

In the darkness, someone grabbed hold of her. Ginny let out a gasp and tried to break free, struggled to fight back—

"Ginny, stop, it's me!" Blaise's voice spoke through the darkness. Ginny's eyes were beginning to adjust now, and as she stopped fighting, she looked up at the person holding onto her and saw Blaise's dark eyes. "Come on, we'll go out the back—"

But they'd only taken a few steps when some of the lights flashed back on. Blaise and Ginny froze for a moment, and Ginny looked around, taking in the situation. She, Blaise, and Will were at the back entrance into the room, just shy of the corridor. The room itself, however, was full of people—all the Death Eaters—and other people, too. Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix, people Ginny recognized. And standing at the forefront of them all, leading the charge, were three men. Ginny's jaw dropped.

It was Harry, Draco, and—_Ron_.

Ron. _Ron_. Seeing him drove out any other astonishment Ginny might have had, about seeing Harry and Draco working together. Forget Harry, forget Draco—_Ron was there_. Ron was alive! And in that instant, seeing him there, alive, well, wand raised and glaring around at all the Death Eaters, Ginny realized that—no matter what she had said—she had always been afraid, just a little afraid, that he wasn't alive. That he _was _dead, even though she'd insisted he wasn't, even though Harry had brought news that he was alive.

But now he was here. With Harry, with Draco, and, Ginny realized, the rest of her family, and the Order, they were all here. All here, fighting the Death Eaters. Even though they were far from being safe, far from being out of danger, Ginny experienced a huge wave of relief. She had despaired, knowing she had no chance against so many Death Eaters, by herself, but here they were, all of them. Now they had a chance.

The lights flickered again, but only for a second, and then they remained on. Neither Ron nor Harry had seen her; they were both dueling Death Eaters, jet of lights shooting from their wands as they cast curse after curse. Draco was fighting too, but unlike Harry and Ron, he was only trying to get through the Death Eaters, trying to get to Ginny and Will.

Ginny's relief at seeing their rescue party quickly evaporated, however. She lost sight of Draco as a number of Death Eaters closed in between them, some of them throwing out curses, some of them trying to get at Draco, and some of them trying to get at her.

Panic coursed through Ginny. As Blaise fired off a curse at a Death Eater that got too close, Ginny looked around. She turned her back on the battle momentarily. She didn't want to run, she didn't want to leave the others to fight, but she _had _to get Will to safety. It was her only priority. And so—with one last glance at Blaise—she dashed down the dark corridor.

There was nowhere to go. She had gone back the way they came, but there was nothing down the corridor, nothing but the little closet where they'd kept her. Desperately, Ginny looked around and spotted a stairwell in the far corner. Before she could take a step towards it, however, she heard a scream. A second later, a green jet of light flew past her, missing her by inches. It slammed into the wall at the end of the corridor with a _bang!_and bits of the wall crumbled and fell to the floor.

Ginny looked around. Bellatrix Lestrange was running at her, coming down the corridor. There was nowhere to run, no time to run. Ginny set Will down and practically shoved him into the little closet. She only had time to whisper, "Will, stay in here, don't come out!" before another curse flew past her. Filled with chagrin, she took one last look at Will and shut the door, locking him in.

She turned to face Bellatrix. She still had no wand. There was nothing she could do, absolutely nothing, but she would die before she let anyone harm Will. She would die like Lily Potter, fighting to keep her son alive—

Bellatrix stood only feet from her now. Her twisted face was triumphant. She raised her wand, and Ginny could see the incantation, _Avada Kedavra_, forming on her lips—

—and then someone bowled into her from behind, knocking her over. It was Blaise. He'd evidently lost his wand, but had tackled Bellatrix, and the two of them went tumbling past Ginny in a tangle together. Bellatrix was shrieking in fury as she struggled to get free of Blaise, long enough to curse him. Ginny started forward to help Blaise, but before she could, someone yelled, "Ginny, move!"

Stepping back, Ginny looked around in shock. Draco was charging down the corridor towards them, his wand raised. He shot a curse at Bellatrix, but it missed. Bellatrix was snarling, fighting off Blaise. She had dropped her wand. Blaise snatched it up, but before he had time to use it, she kicked him, hard, in the head. Dazed, blacking out, Blaise fell back, the wand falling from his hand.

Ginny dove for it. Like a Seeker going for the Snitch, she reached out, knocking Bellatrix's grasping hand out of the way. Her fingers closed around the dark wood triumphantly. With the wand in hand, she backed away from Bellatrix quickly, before Bellatrix could knock her out, too. Raising the wand, she leveled it at Bellatrix—

But Bellatrix wasn't looking at her. As soon as Ginny had grabbed hold of the wand and darted back, Bellatrix had lunged at Blaise, at his barely conscious, stirring form on the floor. And before Ginny could cast any curse with the recovered wand, Bellatrix yanked back Blaise's sleeve and pressed a finger to his left forearm.

To the Mark, which was now visible there.

Ginny didn't know what happened next. All she knew was a searing pain in her own arm, a fiery pain that set alight her entire body. She wasn't able to keep herself from dropping the wand, she was barely aware of what was happening around her. It was like the Cruciatus Curse, and Ginny kept waiting for it to end, but it didn't. Her head was going to explode in agony, her veins were going to burst—she heard someone screaming, and, distantly, as she fell to the floor, she realized the screams were coming from her own mouth—

A red light flashed overhead. Ginny was suddenly aware of the pain ending, but it faded slowly from her body, as though unwilling to let her go. As she struggled to come to her senses through the fog clouding her brain, she was aware of more jets of light exploding in the corridor, more shouts, more curses. Someone was dueling someone else. Ginny lay on her back in the corridor, fighting the blackness threatening to engulf her.

A wand went soaring overhead—someone had been Disarmed—

—she was vaguely aware of someone stirring on the floor beside her—it was _Blaise_—

A shouted curse, a jet of green light. Someone screamed, a terrible, animal-like sound. A dying scream.

The last thing Ginny saw was Draco's pale, horrified face as he bent over her. Then she lost the battle with her own consciousness, and everything went black.

* * *

The first thing Ginny heard as she came to were voices. After a moment, she realized they were raised voices, people arguing, only they were some distance away, so she couldn't really hear them. Groggily, she opened her eyes.

There was a wand pointing in her face. A surge of alarm rushed through her, but then the wand lowered, and Ginny recognized the person at the end of the wand.

"Ron!"

Ron smiled, a crooked, slightly worried smile. "Hey, Ginny. How do you feel?"

Ginny frowned, her thoughts muddled. She tried to lift her head slowly, but it felt heavy. "I'm fine—I can't believe you're—Will." Her eyes flew open, and she looked to Ron frantically. "Will, Ron, I had to leave him in the closet, where—"

"It's okay, Ginny, he's fine," Ron reassured her. "That is, if we're talking about the same Will. Little blond chap, very brave, very charming, refers to you as 'Mum?'"

Ginny smiled, relaxing a little. "That's the one. The same Will _you _delivered, if you'll recall."

The smile briefly disappeared from Ron's face. "Yeah, I know. I remember." But then he smiled again and said, "Seriously, Gin, he's fine. Malfoy took him to St. Mungo's—but it's okay, he's perfectly fine. They just went as a precaution, have him looked over, you know."

Ginny let out a slow breath and nodded. She tried lifting her head again and felt much better this time. "Good," she said, struggling to sit up. "I should probably go and—" She broke off. She had just tried to stand and found this not possible. Confused, she looked down at her arm.

She was tied up. Her left wrist was magically lashed to a table leg, which was bolted to the floor.

"What the—what is this?" Ginny tugged uselessly at the bond, not so much trying to get free as just to make sure that it was real, that she wasn't seeing things. "Ron, what's going on? Why am I…?" She trailed off, her gaze sliding further down her wrist, to her forearm. The skin there was badly scarred, as always. But beneath the scarring—faint but clearly visible—Ginny could see the Mark. The Dark Mark.

"The charm," she murmured, staring at the Mark in disbelief. "This evening…I forgot…"

"What?" Ron said sharply.

Ginny looked around at him, but she barely saw him. For the first time, she took stock of her surroundings. She was in a room, a room she didn't recognize, with a long table and several chairs around it. The table was the same one she was tied to; she and Ron sat on the floor beside it. It looked like a dining room of some sort.

The door to the room wasn't quite shut all the way, though it was closed enough that Ginny couldn't see anything through it. She looked to the door sharply as another raised voice reached her ears, but the voice was cut off a moment later, and then she couldn't hear anymore.

"Ron, what's going on?" she demanded, turning back to face him. "Are we still in that house? Where the Death Eaters were?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. The Death Eaters have all been round up by now, I think, or the Aurors are just finishing up. Harry—er—Harry's outside with some of them now," he finished awkwardly.

Harry. That was who she'd heard shouting, she realized, just moments ago. "And why am I tied up?" Ginny asked fiercely. "Is it because of this?" She pointed, indicating the fading mark on her arm.

Ron looked at her arm quickly and then looked away. "Yeah," he muttered. He cleared his throat. "Yes. But, Gin, it's just a precaution," he added quickly. "I mean, I don't think anyone _really _thinks—I mean, it was forced on you, wasn't it? Had to be? You didn't take it on purpose, did you?"

"Take it on purpose—Ron Weasley, of _course _I didn't take it on purpose! You didn't honestly think I might have?"

"No—no, Ginny, of course not!" Ron said quickly. "But, well, I know you, I'm your brother—the Aurors—"

"I've worked with most of those Aurors! They can't really think—"

"No, Ginny, look, please calm down," Ron hissed. He tossed a glance at the door, as though afraid they would be overheard. "I told you, I don't—I don't think anyone really thinks that you—that you're a—a Death Eater. Really, they don't. But, well, they've been rounding them up, all of them in the house here, and, well, there you were, with the Mark—but I'm sure it'll be cleared right up, Gin. They'll come in here and ask you, and you can tell them what really happened, and it'll be fine, everything will be fine."

Ginny stared at him. The words were reassuring, but his tone wasn't. He sounded nervous, and he kept darting glances between the door and the floor, looking anywhere except at her.

Before either of them could say anymore, the door opened, and Harry and a couple of Aurors walked in. Ginny didn't know one of them, but the other, she realized with a small shock, was Matthias Murray—Head of the Auror Office. He hadn't been her boss when she was an Auror; he'd been named to the position a couple of years after she'd been let go. But she remembered him, nevertheless, from the Auror Office. He could be a frightening man if you didn't know him very well; he rarely showed any emotion, and his face was all sharp angles, as though he'd been carved from stone.

"Miss Weasley," he said in usual clipped tone. "Are you feeling all right?"

Ginny was still staring at him; she knew that she was, but she couldn't seem to stop. "Yes," she heard herself say.

"Good," he said, though if he really thought it was good, Ginny couldn't tell by his tone or expression. His face was impassive, his tone neutral. "If you think you can stand, then we need you to come with us, if you please. To Auror Headquarters."

"Hang on!" Ron objected angrily. "She was unconscious, she needs the hospital! You can't just—"

"Ron, I'm fine," Ginny interjected. She chanced a glance at Harry, who stood slightly behind the Aurors. His brow was furrowed as he looked between them, her, and Ron, but he didn't say anything.

"Really." Ginny looked back at Murray. "I don't need the hospital. I'm fine. I'm _fine_, Ron," she repeated, a little exasperated, when he looked ready to protest again.

"Fine," Ron grumbled, "but I'm coming with you."

Murray raised an eyebrow. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Weasley."

"You can't stop me—"

"Ron," Harry interrupted. "It's all right, I'm going with them. You should go see your family. Some of them are still out there—" He jerked his head, indicating outside the room "—and they're going bonkers, they want to see you and know what's going on with Ginny."

"But—"

"She'll be fine, Ron," Harry insisted. In spite of his assurance, however, Murray looked around at him.

"As I understand it, Mr. Potter, you are a close friend of Ginny Weasley," he said shortly. "I don't know that it's wise for you to—"

"I've been given leave to assist on this case," Harry interrupted, "by the Minister himself, in case you've forgotten. Am I to understand that that leave no longer applies?" he asked coolly.

Murray looked at him for a moment. He did not look angry or annoyed, not any more than usual, anyway. Ginny could read nothing on his face. But then he said, "Very well. You may accompany us.

Fifteen minutes later, Ginny found herself at Auror Headquarters, sequestered in one of the interrogation rooms. She had been Apparated to the Ministry by an Auror, one she didn't know, and her arm lashed, once again, to a hook in the table. She was alone in the room for all of two minutes before Harry came in, scowling.

"You can't Apparate out of these rooms," Harry muttered, "and they searched me for Portkeys. What could I possibly do with you in here?" He yanked a chair out from the table, with rather more force than was necessary, and seated himself across from her, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

"Not anymore," Harry muttered grimly. He cleared his throat, some of the anger dissipating from his face. "Are you okay, Ginny?" he asked quietly.

Ginny nodded. For some reason, she didn't quite trust herself to speak. She met Harry's eyes for a moment and then looked away. She realized, then, why she felt so awkward…ashamed, even. It was the Dark Mark. The bloody Mark, on her arm. She felt suddenly a fool for never telling anyone about it, for hiding it, for even taking it in the first place, even if it had been to save Will, even if she hadn't really had a choice. She wanted to explain to Harry, but she didn't know how.

Instead of breaching the subject at all, she said, "Harry, what happened? At the house? The last thing I remember…I had gotten hold of Bellatrix's wand, but she—well, she pressed the Mark on Blaise's arm, and I collapsed, and then I passed out. What happened?"

Harry didn't answer her right away. He looked a little distracted. "Yeah, that's what Malfoy said," he muttered. "Bellatrix pressed the Mark on Zabini's arm?"

"Yes," Ginny said slowly.

Harry continued to look confused a moment later, but then he shook his head, and seemed to come to himself. "Well, I only heard from Malfoy what happened after that," he told her. "Bellatrix got her wand back and dueled Malfoy. She managed to Disarm him, but Zabini had come to, by then, and he caught Malfoy's wand." He met Ginny's eyes grimly. "Then he killed her."

"Killed who? _Bellatrix?_ You mean—" Ginny caught her breath. "She's _dead? _Harry, she's really dead? That horrible women, that evil—"

"Yeah." Harry sounded tired, but relieved. "Yeah, she's dead."

"And _Blaise _killed her?"

Harry nodded. "The thing is, he got away. He took off after that, up the stairs to the next floor, and no one caught up with him. Malfoy hardly noticed, he was too worried about you, at that point."

"And Will—"

"He's fine. Malfoy found him in the closet nearly right after that. A little scared, but he looked happy enough to see Malfoy, and we all promised him you were okay."

A huge wave of relief coursed through Ginny. She smiled a little, then. "And what about your daughter? Harry, you don't have to stay here with me, you can go home to her—"

Harry smiled briefly. "She's fine, and I'm sure she's fast asleep by now. She's at Shell Cottage, actually. With Fleur and Victoire." He sat back in his chair, and the smile disappeared from his face. "I'm more worried about you, at the moment." He glanced over his shoulder, towards the door, looking distracted.

Ginny eyed him for a moment. She still didn't want to talk to him about this—about the Dark Mark—but she couldn't avoid it forever. "Harry, how bad is this?" she asked in a low voice. "For me?"

Harry shook his head. "It'll be fine. I think. No one really thinks you're a Death Eater, but, well, given how things have been around here lately, the Aurors want to be thorough. And—" Harry hesitated. "Well, the thing is—Ginny, how _did _you get that Mark? I assume you didn't have a choice—"

"No, I didn't," Ginny said swiftly. She hesitated, for just a moment, and then plunged on. She told Harry everything about that night at the Riddle House, how she'd gone there to find Will, how Lucius Malfoy had wanted to stall for time and had suggested branding her with the Mark. At the time, of course, she hadn't really understood why, but then, she hadn't cared, either. All she'd wanted was to get Will out safely, and she would have done anything they'd asked. She explained all this to Harry and, when she'd finished, he sat there, looking puzzled.

"But how—" He paused. "Look, I'm sure it was an unpleasant experience, and I'm sorry to have to ask, but—how exactly did they do it? I mean…the process…"

Ginny grimaced. "They inked it on me first, like a tattoo, with a wand. It was…painful." Ginny swallowed. "Then there was an incantation—they did a couple of different spells, but I—Harry, I really don't know what. I know there's that one charm involved, I think, the one Hermione used on those fake Galleons we used in the D.A.—"

"The Protean Charm." Harry nodded slowly. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration. "But…that's what I don't get. Are you sure they did that one, Ginny?"

Ginny shrugged. "Well…I don't know. I assume so, but—"

"Because the thing is," Harry interrupted, "what Bellatrix did, back at the house. When she wanted to incapacitate you, she reached over and touched Zabini's mark. Why? Why didn't she just use hers?"

"Well…" Ginny blinked. She hadn't really thought of that. "I don't know. Maybe she thought it was funny—using Blaise—she was twisted like that—"

Harry shook his head. "But she didn't have a lot of time. You were about to curse her. Why waste the time when she could have just gone for her own Mark?"

"I don't know—why, Harry? What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure." Harry looked troubled, and he sighed. "Look, Ginny. The thing is, I'm—I'm not sure how the Aurors are going to take to your story. It's not that it's not believable," he added hastily. "It is, and I believe you, of course. But, well, Malfoy—Malfoy said some things, back at the house—"

"What things?" Ginny said sharply. She felt a flutter of panic in her gut. Draco. She had forgotten, but of course, he had been there, when she had collapsed. And she had forgotten to do the charm, the one that hid the Mark, which meant that when it had burned on her arm, Draco had seen it.

"For one thing," Harry said, in answer to her question, "he said that no one could brand anyone with the Dark Mark except for Voldemort."

Ginny frowned. "But—that can't be true. Obviously it's not. I'm proof of that—and Blaise, because he never had a Dark Mark, back at Hogwarts, and Voldemort's been gone since then—"

"I know." Harry nodded slowly. "But that's what Malfoy said. He used Nott as an example—Theodore Nott, you know? Apparently, he doesn't have a Dark Mark, and Nott told Draco that was because he didn't officially become a Death Eater until after the attack on Hogsmeade, when Voldemort disappeared. He said he wasn't able to take the Mark, without Voldemort."

"That doesn't make any sense," Ginny murmured.

"Malfoy also—" Harry hesitated. "Well, erm…he was, well, confused as to how, ah—how you managed to hide the Mark from him, all this time. He, er—" Harry's cheeks had gone a bit pink. "He…_implied _that there were times when he would have seen it. When you couldn't have hidden it from him." He wouldn't meet her gaze.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "Like when I wore a tank top, you mean?"

Harry frowned. "That's not what he was talking about."

Ginny sighed. "Yes, I'm sure it wasn't." It annoyed her, a little, that Draco had obviously not wasted any time rubbing their relationship in Harry's face, but then, she wasn't really surprised by it, either. She reached up with her free hand to rub her temple. "There's a charm," she told him. "Blaise showed me—although, I didn't know it was Blaise, then. But there's a charm, to hide the Mark, when it's burning. I hid it from Draco for over a year, though, without the charm. When it's not burning, you can't see it very well, because my arm is so scarred." She held up her arm. "See?" And it was true; the Mark was so faint, now, that it couldn't be seen, unless you looked very closely.

"Huh." Harry looked puzzled again. "I didn't know there was a charm to hide the Dark Mark."

Ginny shrugged. "Neither did I. I think it must be something new they developed."

Harry shook his head. "But then, why weren't any of the other Death Eaters using it? All of them had visible Marks on their arms. Back at the house, I mean."

Ginny shrugged. "Well, they didn't really have any reason to hide anything, did they? Everyone knows that they're Death Eaters."

"I suppose," Harry muttered. He didn't look entirely satisfied with this explanation.

"So…" Ginny swallowed. She traced a finger over the hook in the table, binding her to it. "Malfoy said all of this? How did he…was he angry?"

Harry blinked, looking up. "About what?"

"About the Mark."

"I dunno." Harry shrugged, looking a little surprised, as though how Draco felt about it hadn't concerned him at all. Then again, it probably hadn't. "He seemed…sort of shocked about it all, I guess. And then he found Will, and, well, to be honest, all his attention was for him."

"Of course," Ginny said quickly. "That doesn't surprise me."

There was a knock on the door then. Harry looked around with a frown, but before he could get up from his chair to answer it, the door opened, and Draco entered.

"Malfoy," Harry said, getting to his feet. "They let you in here?"

"Tonks let me in here," Draco corrected him. "She distracted a bloke standing outside so I could get in."

Ginny tried to meet Draco's gaze, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes darted, very briefly, towards her, but his gaze wasn't on her face. It was on her scarred arm. A moment later, he had looked away.

"Well." Harry looked between the two of them, a bit awkwardly. "Er—I'm just going to go talk to Tonks, then. Find out when Murray is finally going to get around to questioning you, Gin." He left, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Silence fell once he was gone. Ginny was still staring at Draco, who was not looking at her. Finally, she said, "How is Will?"

"He's fine," Draco said immediately. He came forward, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "They checked him over at St. Mungo's, and he should be fine. I dropped him off at Shell Cottage before coming here. He was fast asleep before I even left."

Ginny shut her eyes. "Was he scared?" she asked in a small voice. She was immensely relieved that she had shut Will in that closet back in the house, because it meant he hadn't had to see any of what had followed. But what he might have heard, sitting there in the dark—that she would never be able to wipe from his memory.

Draco sighed heavily. He pulled out the chair at the table and seated himself. "A little," Draco conceded. "But I think he'll be okay. He was talking and happy—happy to be with me. He seemed okay."

Now, Ginny would not meet Draco's gaze. She couldn't, as she spoke her next question. "Is he going back to Lillian?"

"Not if I can help it," Draco said. His voice was hardened. "Tonks said she's still being questioned, so they can figure out how the Death Eaters got him in the first place. But even if she isn't held responsible, I'm not handing him back over to her. Not a chance."

"Bellatrix—" Ginny cleared her throat, looking up. "Bellatrix said, back at that house—she said Lillian just handed him over, without a fight. I don't know if that's true, but…" She trailed off. Draco said nothing. If it was true, then they would surely get to keep Will, but it couldn't be easy for Draco to admit. He had most assuredly placed his faith in the wrong person. Still, Ginny was sure that he realized that. She wasn't going to rub it in.

Silence fell between them once more. Draco had gone back to evading Ginny's gaze. He sat sideways in his chair, so that Ginny could only see his profile. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his legs stretched out in front of him. Ginny swallowed. "Draco—"

"How did you get that Mark, Ginny?" he asked. His tone was flat.

Ginny hesitated a brief second, and then told him. She explained in full what had happened at the Riddle House, that it had been Lucius' idea. She didn't stop there. She went further, explaining how she'd hidden it, how it had burned, how it had caused her to fall off her broom. She told him everything that Lucius had told her, that night at the hospital, about why he'd done it in the first place, and about Blaise using it.

She felt drained when she finally finished speaking. Drained, tired, but also incredibly relieved, of this weight, this huge secret, which she had been keeping from him for years now.

When she finished, she looked at Draco, waiting for some reaction. For a moment, he didn't move, he didn't speak. He only continued to stare at the floor in front of him. Then he turned to face her, and the ugly expression on his face was like a punch in the gut to Ginny.

"Right," he said, and his words were skeptical, harsh. "Only, a lot of that doesn't make any sense, you see. Because only the Dark Lord can give someone the Dark Mark."

"I—Harry said that," Ginny said, surprised by how weak her voice sounded. "That you'd told him that, but, well, I don't think that can be true, Draco. I mean, obviously it's not—you must be mistaken—"

"No, I'm not," Draco said coldly. "Only, I know a bit about this process, remember? Having been through it myself? And Theo had never had a Mark, because the Dark Lord was gone by the time he—"

"I know," Ginny interrupted, "but, well, maybe they just told him that—maybe they didn't want to give the Mark—or, well, I don't know—"

"That's right," Draco said flatly. "You don't know."

Ginny stared at him for a moment. A sense of incredulity began to spread over her. "Are you—are you saying that you don't believe me?" she asked. That was absurd. "You—what—you think I'm lying? You think I've really had the Dark Mark for, what, ten years now, since before the battle of Hogsmeade—"

"Well, your story doesn't make much sense, does it?" Draco snarled.

"Yes, it does!" Ginny felt hot; she could feel her cheeks reddening. "It makes perfect sense, Draco, only you don't want to hear it!"

"Oh, really? Let me point out the flaws in your story, Ginny." Draco stood from his chair, and began pacing the small room. "One: Only the Dark Lord can brand someone with his Mark. Two: There is no charm, or any way, to hide the Mark. Three: The Mark doesn't burn the way you've described it. It's painful, sure, but it doesn't go on for hours like you said, and it shouldn't cause you to collapse, or fall off your broom—"

"Then maybe it isn't the Dark Mark after all!" Angrily, Ginny rose from her chair, but, tied to the table, she couldn't move any further. "That's what it sounds like to me, Draco! Because you saw it yourself, you know I'm not lying about the Mark causing me to collapse, and I obviously _have _been able to hide the Mark all this time, or you would've seen it by now! It should have been very clear after I'd fallen off my broom, for one!"

Draco didn't say anything. He stopped pacing, and gripped the back of his chair. He looked at Ginny, his eyes dark with anger.

"So don't tell me that you don't believe me," Ginny whispered, "because I don't think that's what this is about at all."

"But what else haven't you told me?" Draco demanded. "How about what happened to Theo's father?"

Ginny swallowed. "That—Draco—"

"Because when Lillian Moon told me about that, I was positive that she had to be wrong," Draco went on relentlessly. "That you hadn't done anything, had anything to do with it. Only, now I'm not so sure, Gin."

"You think I killed him?"

"I don't know anymore! Did you?"

"_No_," Ginny insisted. "Of course not, Draco—how could I have done? I didn't even know where he was!"

"But you had a hand in it," Draco pressed. "Didn't you?"

Ginny didn't answer him right away. Her stomach was churning; she felt faint. "It really doesn't matter," she said finally, "does it?" Feeling suddenly exhausted, she sat down heavily in her chair. "You know what you know, you think what you think, and that's all that matters."

Draco shook his head. He was staring at her with such an awful expression that Ginny had to look away; he was looking at her as though she were a stranger, someone he had never seen before. "I can't believe you," he muttered.

"Why?" Ginny shot back. "Like you wouldn't have done something, anything, for me and Will? Like you haven't done things, for your family?"

"But not you!" Draco shot back. "Not you, you're not—you—" He raked a hand through his hair, turning his back on her for a moment. Then he said quietly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"About Nott? I—"

"About any of it!" Draco exploded, whirling around to face her. "About Nott! About this!" He lunged across the table suddenly, and before Ginny could draw back, he grabbed a hold of her arm, the one lashed to the hook in the table. He looked her in the eyes, and the expression on his face, so angry and so lost, held Ginny there. She could not have looked away from him if she'd wanted to. "And there were other things too, weren't there?" he went on. "When you ran into Lillian at the hospital? When you found Blaise at the manor—"

"_You're _going to talk to me about Blaise?"

"Yes!" Draco let go of her arm, practically throwing it from him; if Ginny had not been tied to the table, she would have fallen back. "Yes, I am! Because we already talked about me, we already talked about why I never told you about Blaise. What about you, Ginny? We never talked about _that_, we never talked about why you spent weeks visiting him, without telling me, not knowing that I already knew he was alive, that he was there—"

"I…" Ginny slumped back in her seat. "Look, I know I should've told you about him. But I—" She swallowed. "And Lillian Moon, Draco, that's nothing. I told you, I just didn't want to worry you about her—"

"Which was a bad idea, wasn't it, because clearly we needed to be worried about her!"

"Draco." Ginny stared up at him, a little afraid of him in that moment. He was angrier than she had ever seen him, raging through the little room, pacing furiously. "I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Why—" He stopped moving suddenly, and shut his eyes. He was trembling, as though he were trying very hard not to shout again. "_Why_ didn't you tell me about the Mark? _Why?_"

"I just—" Ginny swallowed. "I didn't think it mattered—I didn't want to—"

"_Don't_ say you didn't want to worry me," Draco growled. "Ginny, you're supposed to worry me about these things, about anything! That's what I'm here for! I'm your _husband_." He placed his hands on the table and leaned towards her. His eyes changed suddenly; no longer dark and angry, but pleading. "Ginny, don't you _trust _me?"

"Of—of course I do," Ginny said quietly.

Draco shook his head. "I don't think you do," he said numbly. "I thought you did. I thought we were past all this. But you haven't trusted me with anything, have you? You don't tell me anything, all because you don't think it _matters_, because you don't think you _need _to tell me. Because I'm not worth the trouble of confiding in."

"That's not it at all," Ginny said miserably. "You don't understand."

"Then make me understand, Ginny! I _want_ to understand! Why, _why _wouldn't you tell me about that Mark, about Blaise, about any of it!"

Ginny bit her lip. How could she possibly explain it to him, when really, she didn't understand it herself? _Or can't admit it to yourself_, a nasty little voice said in her head. Shaking, Ginny closed her eyes. A horrible, sickening fear wormed through her insides, but Ginny couldn't place it, couldn't name it, couldn't find the source.

"I can't explain," she said hoarsely.

When she dared to open her eyes again, Draco was staring at her, shaking his head. The raw anger, the open pleading in his expression, was gone. Slowly, she watched the mask steal over his features, watched him close himself off from her. Again. "I'm going home," he said, his voice cold.

"But—" Ginny half-stood from her chair. "I don't—I don't know when I'll be able to leave here, when I can come home—"

"I don't care," Draco said heartlessly. "Come home or don't. It doesn't matter to me."

Ginny could do nothing, say nothing, as he turned his back and walked out of the room.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**

Just so you know, information on Harry's past few years and his daughter will be revealed in the next chapter, as well as some info on Ron and where he's been. I meant to do all that earlier, when Harry first came back, but then the climax of the story came up and there wasn't really a good place to do it. But it all fit in will in the final chapter.


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Here is the final chapter and epilogue! This fic is now complete. I have so enjoyed writing this fic, but it feels good to have finally finished it. Enjoy!

* * *

Ginny must have sat there another hour, alone, before anyone came in to see her again. She sat curled up in her chair, resting her head on her knees. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Draco left her. He said he didn't care what happened to her, and she'd looked into his eyes as he said it. And she believed him.

She felt gutted.

When the door to the interrogation room opened again, it was the Auror, Carmichael, who came in.

"Hey, Ginny," he said. He sounded tired, but not unfriendly. "You're free to go." He raised his wand and severed the magical bond tying her to the table.

Half-amazed, half-uncaring, Ginny lifted her head. "I—what? Why? No one even questioned me."

Carmichael shrugged. "All I know is that Potter and Malfoy both talked to Murray. Oh, and I think he talked to someone else, too—some other source. I don't know who though."

"Another source?" Ginny echoed, confused. "Someone else who talked about me, you mean?"

"I think so." Carmichael raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. "You do _want_ to go, don't you?"

When Ginny exited the interrogation room, she found Harry outside, talking to a couple of Aurors. When he saw her, he excused himself and came over, smiling.

"What happened?" Ginny demanded. "You told Murray what I told you?"

Harry nodded. "Everything. He was still going to question you himself, of course, but then he was called away to question someone else. When he came back, he said you could go."

Ginny shook her head. "But who did he talk to?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Probably a Death Eater—someone who was there at the Riddle House, who could tell them what they did to you. Maybe someone cut a deal for a lesser sentence by giving information or something." He shrugged again, clearly putting it all from his mind. "Anyway, who cares? You can go home now. You look awful, Gin. You must be exhausted."

"Yeah," Ginny said hoarsely. She knew she should have been happy to be set free, but all she felt was a sort of hopelessness. She didn't feel as though she had any home to go to. "I'm just…not sure where to go."

Harry looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Ginny waved an arm helplessly. "Well, I—I want to see Will. But—Draco. I don't think…" She shook her head. "I don't think he wants to see me," she said quietly.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean? What did he—"

"Harry?"

Both Ginny and Harry looked up to see a tall, familiar person striding towards them. It was Dean Thomas. "Oh, Ginny, you're still here," Dean said as he reached them. "Good. I have news you'll want to hear," he said grimly.

"News?" Ginny echoed. She stared at him; she didn't understand why he was there, at Auror Headquarters, at this time of night. "What news? Have you been doing something for the Order or something?"

Harry's eyes suddenly lit with comprehension. "That's right. You were with Remus—at Lillian Moon's place."

Ginny tensed. "You've been there? What's happened? Did you find out how—how the Death Eaters got Will?"

"Yeah," Dean said bitterly. "Seems like Lillian Moon pretty much just handed him over. I don't think she wanted to, exactly, but, well, she caved pretty easily. It sort of sounded like she'd been receiving threats from the Death Eaters for a while, but she never reported anything. She didn't even take any further steps to protect the house. Basically, she just ignored them."

A cold anger swept through Ginny. "I knew it," she said. "I knew he wouldn't be safe with her. I assume that she won't be taking Will back? Even if she wanted to, she can't have him back."

"No," Dean said, and an odd expression came over his face. "No, she won't be taking him back, Ginny. That's not possible now."

"Why?" Harry and Ginny asked simultaneously.

"Because," Dean said, "she's dead. She managed to excuse herself from the room where the Aurors were questioning her. When she didn't come back, they went to look for her, and found her in the next room. She'd taken poison."

* * *

Harry never, ever thought he'd be a staunch supporter of Ginny and Malfoy's relationship. As it was, he didn't really _support_ it now, except that the situation had gotten beyond ridiculous.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the night the Death Eaters escaped Azkaban and went after Ginny and Will. Ginny had been reluctant to go home after being released from Auror Headquarters. She was convinced that Malfoy did not want to see her, and she, therefore, did not want to see Malfoy. She did want to see Will, of course, and Malfoy was not such a git that he wouldn't let her.

So for the past two weeks, Ginny had been staying at Grimmauld Place, where Harry, Ron, and Harry's daughter, Melanie, were living. Tracey Davis and Adrian Pucey were still living there as well, though they were looking for an apartment now for themselves.

Every morning, Malfoy stopped by to drop Will off, to stay with Ginny. Ginny, Harry had noticed, made a point of never being up by the time Malfoy came by, so that they never even saw each other. So Will and Ginny spent their days together, and then, every evening, Malfoy came by to pick Will up and take him home.

It was beyond ridiculous, so far as Harry was concerned. All this maneuvering. Not to mention, he was sure that Will wanted to live at home with both his parents, not in this wacky, move-about situation. But Malfoy was furious at Ginny, and Ginny, for some reason, would not confront him about it. It baffled Harry. He had never, ever seen her act like this about any boy or man she'd ever been involved with.

He could only conclude—much as he didn't want to—that Ginny was very, very much in love with Malfoy.

And if she wasn't going to do anything about it, then he, Harry, would have to.

It was a Saturday. Last weekend, Will had spent all day Saturday with Malfoy, at the townhouse, and then all day Sunday at Grimmauld Place with Ginny and the rest of them. Though he hadn't seen anyone speak of it, it seemed this arrangement was to continue for this weekend as well. So after taking Melanie to visit Tonks and Remus in the morning, Harry stopped by the townhouse to talk to Draco.

They waited several minutes after ringing the bell, before the door was answered by Tasher. The house-elf ushered them in, made a bow, and said that Malfoy was in the tearoom, and that he was to show them back there. Harry supposed that the long wait for the door to be answered was due to Malfoy trying to decide if he should let Harry in or not.

The tearoom, as it turned out, was a conservatory located at the back of the house. Tasher led them out onto the terrace and across the garden to reach it. It was cold out, not terribly so, but it was the middle of December, so Harry was surprised to see that the conservatory doors were open, and that Malfoy and his son were inside, having tea. The moment he and Melanie stepped in, however, he realized there were warming charms in the room, keeping out the cold.

Malfoy did not get up from his seat when Harry came in. For a moment, they only stared at each other. Will was the first to break the silence by crying, "Uncle Harry!"

Malfoy looked scandalized to hear his son calling Harry "uncle." Harry stifled a laugh. When Will had first come over to Grimmauld Place a couple weeks ago, he had started calling Harry "Potter." When questioned by Ginny, Will told them that that was what his dad called Harry, and so that was what he would call Harry. Ginny told him that was rude and that he should call Harry "Mr. Potter" or "Uncle Harry," and so Will had adopted the latter use.

"Can I help you with something, Potter?" Malfoy drawled.

"Daddy," Will said, "that's rude." The blond little boy smiled at Melanie and offered her a biscuit from his plate, which Melanie took shyly.

Malfoy looked at his son with suppressed frustration. "Will," he said calmly, "why don't you put your coat on and go play outside?"

Will, apparently, was delighted by this notion. Tasher hurried forward to help Will into his coat, and then followed the little boy as he dashed outside. After a quick, silent glance at Harry for permission, Melanie followed them, the half-eaten biscuit clutched in her hand.

Left alone with Malfoy, Harry seated himself in Will's vacant seat, without waiting for an invitation. Malfoy scowled at him. "Your son is very friendly," Harry noted. "He must have gotten that from Ginny."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "And your daughter is very quiet and polite," he observed. "Too bad she didn't get that from you." He frowned. "Who is her mother, anyway?"

Harry suppressed the familiar rush of pain in his chest and said calmly, "Ginny didn't tell you? Your old pal. Daphne Greengrass."

Harry felt a childish sense of satisfaction to see Malfoy's shocked reaction, but it was fleeting, and did nothing to ease his pain. Daphne and Malfoy, Harry knew, had not been friends exactly, though they had run in the same circles at school, Daphne being Parkinson's best friend. He also suspected that there had been something between Daphne and Malfoy at some point in their school years, though Daphne had never said this outright.

"_Daphne Greengrass?_" Malfoy echoed. "She's been missing for—I thought she was dead."

"She is," Harry said. He felt cold, in spite of the warming charms.

Malfoy looked at him sharply, freezing still in the act of reaching for his teacup. He stared at Harry for several long moments, and Harry wished he wouldn't, because it was very, very difficult for him to keep his expression impassive, to hide his pain. He was determined that Malfoy not see it.

"When?" Malfoy finally said. "How?"

"She was sick," Harry said. He forced the words out quickly, before his voice could falter. "She got sick. Very sick. There was a potion she could've taken to cure it, but she was already pregnant by that time. And the potion would have hurt the baby. So she wouldn't take it."

Malfoy didn't say anything. Harry could tell the man was still staring at him, even though Harry wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead, he fiddled with Will's empty teacup, which, he noted, was plastic, yet made to look just like all the ornate, glass teacups on the table.

"And by the time Melanie was born," Harry went on, his voice toneless, "it was too late. She died a few weeks later."

Silence fell between them. When Malfoy finally spoke, he said, "You should tell Pansy. They were friends."

"I know," Harry said.

Malfoy looked as though he were struggling with something. Finally, he burst out, "But you and _Daphne?_ How did that even happen?"

Harry rolled his eyes at him. "Probably in the same way you and Ginny happened," he shot back.

"But she was missing! How did—why—?"

"She was in hiding with me," Harry said impatiently. "We were in hiding, alone, together, for _five years_, Malfoy. Things happen."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Why was she in hiding with you? She didn't need to go into hiding!"

"Well, it wasn't her idea," Harry said dryly, "nor mine, not really, though I was the one who brought her along. She'd been spying on me, see. I didn't know why, or for whom, and I couldn't risk it. So I took her with me." He could see the next question already forming on Malfoy's face, so he went on, "She wasn't a Death Eater. No one in her family was. But she was being threatened. She'd been dating some bloke several years older than her, someone involved with the Death Eaters. She just got in too deep."

Malfoy shook his head. Harry didn't wait for him to ask any more questions. He didn't want to talk about Daphne anymore. Instead, he turned the conversation to the reason he'd come over in the first place. "Malfoy, I wanted to talk to you about Ginny."

Instantly, the shock and questions disappeared from Malfoy's face. His expression closed off. "What about her?" he said coldly.

"I want to know why you're being such an arse to her," Harry said bluntly.

Malfoy sneered. "You mean she hasn't told you? I would think she's confided everything in you, her precious _Potter_, by now."

Harry ignored the childish jibe and said, "She hasn't told me anything. And I don't need any specifics from you, either. I just want to know why you're treating her like this. I know you're angry—"

"You don't know anything about how I feel, Potter."

"—but I'm also pretty sure that you're in love with her," Harry went on. Concealing his own anger was becoming more and more difficult. Talking about Daphne hadn't really helped. "So why don't you put your damn pride aside, forgive her, and let her come home already?"

"She can come home if she wants to," Malfoy retorted. "That doesn't mean I have to forgive her, though."

Harry felt his ire rise. "Look, what is this really about, Malfoy?" he snapped. "You're angry because she didn't tell you about the Mark?"

"She didn't tell me about a lot of things," Malfoy said icily. "She _doesn't_ tell me about a lot of things. And do you know what her _reason_ was for keeping secrets from me? That she didn't want to _worry_ me." Malfoy's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Well, isn't that bloody nice of her. Too bad I know what it really means. She doesn't trust me."

Harry stared at him. "Is that really what you think, you idiot?"

Draco glared at him. "You don't know anything about me and Ginny, Potter. So don't come in here and—"

"You're right." Harry stood abruptly, his anger boiling over. "And I won't pretend to be some expert when it comes to women either, because I'm not. But even I can see what's going on here, Malfoy. It's not that Ginny doesn't trust you. It's that Ginny's _afraid_ of you."

Malfoy stood too. He faced Harry down, and his eyes were dark with anger. "You don't know _anything_, Potter," he hissed. "I'm sure you've dreamt up this whole explanation for Ginny and I, something that fits into your nice little reality, where I'm an evil Death Eater and Ginny's a bloody saint, just like you. Where I've somehow forced her into marrying me, and kept her with me against her will—"

"That's not what I meant!" Harry interrupted, raising his voice to cut into Malfoy's tirade. "I meant she's afraid to lose you, you stupid git!"

Malfoy fell silent. He stared at Harry, breathing heavily. "Excuse me?"

"Look, I've never seen Ginny behave like she's been the past two weeks," Harry said. "She's been a brooding, miserable mess, and anyone—anyone who knows anything about her at all—knows that's not like her. The Ginny _I_ know would have come over here by now and hexed you into next year until you stopped acting like such a prat. Or do you know a different Ginny?"

Malfoy looked at him sullenly, but said nothing. Harry gathered by his silence that Malfoy agreed with him, but did not want to say so.

"The fact that she's afraid—afraid!—to come over here and confront you makes it obvious, don't you think?" Harry went on. He didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "She's afraid of what you'll say. She didn't tell you about the Mark because she was _afraid of what you'd say_. Did it ever occur to you, Malfoy, that Ginny isn't perfect?"

Malfoy sneered at him. "I know very well she's not perfect, Potter. Or did you forget that I pretty much loathed her for most of my childhood?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about her being a blood traitor, or being poor, or not living up to whatever ridiculous standards you set for people, Malfoy. I'm talking about the fact that she makes mistakes. That she sometimes makes bad choices, just like anyone else. Because _I_ think you've built her up on some sort of pedestal in your head."

"You can bloody well stay out of my head, Potter," Malfoy growled. He had gone quite still though, and his cheeks were pink. Harry thought maybe it was because he was on the right track here.

"It comes down to this," Harry said. He couldn't stop now; he'd wanted to say all of this to Malfoy from the moment he'd learned that he and Ginny were married. "In the end, anything, _anything_ Ginny has done is not as least as bad as the things _you've_ done, Malfoy. Or should I relive sixth year for you?"

Malfoy looked pale. For once, he had no snappy comeback. He looked furiously at Harry, but he seemed unable to speak. He swallowed visibly.

"And as for keeping secrets from you—" Harry snorted. "Are you telling me you've never kept anything from her? Because you didn't trust her, because you were afraid of what she'd say? Or maybe, even, because you didn't want to hurt her with whatever it was?"

Malfoy flinched. He folded his arms over his chest and remained silent.

"And yet, she's forgiven you," Harry pointed out. "I would assume so, anyway, since you're still together, or you were. Now, _I'm_ not surprised to find out that you're a big enough prat that you won't do the same for her—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy repeated. But his words were quiet, his voice strained. "It's not that simple."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not saying it is. It never is, Malfoy. But you're never going to figure it out if you don't talk to her."

Silence fell between them. Malfoy stood his ground, but he wouldn't look at Harry. Then he said, "Fine. You've said your piece, and I've listened. Now get out of my house, Potter."

Harry sighed. There was no way to tell, really, if he'd made any difference here at all. But he'd done what he could, and that was that. He turned to leave the conservatory and collect Melanie from the garden.

"Potter. Wait."

Harry turned around, raising an eyebrow. Malfoy looked as though he were suppressing a grimace, but he met Harry's gaze directly. "I'm…sorry. About Daphne."

Harry stifled his shock at hearing this from Malfoy, and merely nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

After Potter left, Draco stood outside in the garden with his son. Draco shivered. It was cold out, and he didn't have a coat or a cloak on.

Will was pouting. "They left," he grumbled.

Draco glanced down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, well, you see them every day now, don't you?"

"I like Mel," Will said definitively. "She's nice."

Draco looked away and scowled.

"But," Will went on, "she doesn't talk much."

The scowl left Draco's face. He thought of what Potter had told him about Daphne Greengrass—Melanie's mother. He shook his head. He still couldn't wrap his head around it—that she'd been with Potter this whole time, that she was _dead_. That she and Potter had been…involved.

"No," Draco said. "I suppose not."

They had just gone back in to the conservatory when Nuly came scurrying in to inform Draco that an Auror was in the fireplace upstairs, in the parlor. Wondering what on earth they could want with him now, Draco left Will in Nuly's care and went upstairs.

In the parlor, he found the Auror Carmichael's head floating in the fireplace. "There you are," he said, when Draco appeared. "Malfoy, you might want to come down to Auror Headquarters, if you're free. We have someone here you'll probably want to talk to, and they'll be moving him soon."

"Someone I want to talk to?" Draco echoed. "Who?"

"Your father," Carmichael said. "We have him in custody."

Within half an hour, Draco had Pansy over at the townhouse to watch Will, while he went directly to Auror Headquarters. Carmichael met him there, and led him down the hall to an interrogation room.

"What happened?" Draco demanded. "How did you find him?"

Carmichael shrugged. "Honestly, it was easy, after that tip your father sent us last week. We managed to track the owl and—"

"Tip?" Draco said sharply. "What tip? What're you talking about?"

Carmichael sent him a strange look. "Potter didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That's how we knew where the Death Eaters were," Carmichael explained. He stopped in front of a closed door. "Your father sent us an owl. He told us."

"But how did he know?" Draco demanded. "He wasn't with them!"

Carmichael shrugged. "Dunno. You'll have to ask him." He unlocked the door and opened it for Draco.

Draco stepped inside. He had not seen his father since they had spoken about Lillian Moon, a year and a half ago. Draco was struck by how…tired his father looked. How haggard, and old. Nevertheless, something almost like a smile touched his face when he saw Draco.

Carmichael shut the door behind Draco, leaving him and Lucius alone. Swallowing, Draco stepped forward, and took the seat opposite his father.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius said.

Draco stared at him. "So," he said. "You slipped up."

Lucius snorted inelegantly. "Yes, I suppose I did."

"You'll be going back to Azkaban, won't you?"

Lucius grimaced. "Yes."

Draco ignored the tightening in his stomach and said casually, "It's not so bad without the Dementors. I had a right nice little cell while I was there."

Lucius fixed him with a derisive look for this sarcasm. Draco clenched a fist beneath the table, where his father couldn't see. He wanted to hug his father. He wanted to tell him he was sorry, that he never wanted him to get caught. But that was not their way. Lucius would not thank him for any of that.

Instead, he said, "Why did you do it, Dad? You'd probably still be free if you hadn't sent that owl to the Aurors. Why?"

"I should think that answer obvious," Lucius said with a raised eyebrow. "Your aunt and the other Death Eaters were going to kill your son. I didn't think I, a single person, would be able to stop them. I considered sending you the owl, but I didn't think you alone would stand much of a chance, either." He grimaced again. "I suppose I should have known you would be cooperating with the Aurors. As that is your propensity these days."

Draco ignored this little jibe. "I don't suppose you cared that Bellatrix would have killed Ginny, too."

"No, I did not care," Lucius said indifferently, and Draco believed him. But after a pause, Lucius added, "If that would have caused you any pain, however, then yes, I would have…regretted it."

A muscle tightened in Draco's jaw. Changing the subject—he did not want to talk about Ginny—he said, "But how did you know where they were?"

"Blaise Zabini told me."

"What—Blaise told you?" Draco blinked. "You spoke with him?"

Lucius nodded, an ironic gleam in his grey eyes. "Quid pro quo. He wanted information, and so did I."

Draco frowned. He had not been sure what to think about Blaise the past couple of weeks. By all accounts, the Death Eaters had not killed him when they took him from the manor because he had willingly joined them and worked with them. Yet Draco had seen him protecting Ginny and Will with his own eyes—he had even killed Bellatrix. Of course, he had likely done that for his own vengenace. "What information did he want?"

His father didn't answer right away. Lucius eyed him appraisingly. Then, with a small sigh, he said, "When we captured Blaise Zabini for the second time—back when we were staying at the Riddle House—he was tortured for information. When that proved ineffective, he was administered a poison."

"A poison?" Draco echoed.

Lucius nodded. "A very rare poison, which works very slowly. There is no cure for it. However, if the victim of the poison takes an antidote every forty-eight hours, then he can prolong his life. Blaise did not believe there was no cure. He had been looking for one ever since he escaped me. He wanted me to tell him what the cure was."

Draco shook his head. "But you said there wasn't one?"

"Yes," Lucius said heavily. "And I told him that. I also told him the full truth about the poison—that the antidote he was taking would not work forever. That it would, eventually, prove ineffective, and that he would succumb to the poison."

Draco stared at him. "You mean he's going to die?"

Lucius nodded.

"How long?"

"He has a year at most," his father said. "I told him so. He didn't want to believe it, of course, but he gave me the Death Eaters' location anyway."

Draco didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. But for the first time—for the first time, really, since Blaise had come to him for help, and told him his story—Draco felt sorry for him. "No wonder he hated me so much," he said numbly.

"Indeed," Lucius said.

"He escaped," Draco said. He scowled. "Took my wand with him. I had to get a new one." He paused, his thoughts moving onto other matters. A part of him didn't want to breach this subject—didn't want to ask at all. But he couldn't leave here without hearing the truth. "And what about Ginny?" he asked. He could heard the hard note in his voice. "The Dark Mark? She has it—she says you put it on her. But that's not possible, and—"

"It isn't a real Dark Mark," Lucius cut in.

"It's—what?" Draco stared. "What do you mean, it's not real?"

"It's a similar marking," Lucius said coolly, "but it's not the true Mark. Only the Dark Lord could administer a true Dark Mark. That mark that she has was created to inflict pain. It also isn't connected to other Death Eaters' Marks."

"But it was connected to Blaise's mark," Draco said. He fought to keep his voice calm and controlled, but he was angry. "Wasn't it?"

Lucius nodded. "That mark was put on her with the hope of using her to control Blaise. So the two marks were connected."

Draco shook his head. "Ginny said you only put the mark on her to stall for time." His voice was shaking with the effort to remain calm. "At the Riddle House."

If his father felt sorry at all for what he had done to Ginny, he didn't show it. He merely looked at Draco and said, "I had an ulterior motive. You shouldn't be surprised by that."

Draco sat back in his chair and remained silent, not trusting himself to respond right away. He bit his tongue and reminded himself that his father was going to prison, likely for the rest of his life. He didn't want to fight with him now. He took a deep, shuddering breath. After a moment, he said, "Ginny was arrested for having that mark. She could have gone to prison—"

"It would never have gone that far, I'm sure," Lucius said dryly. "As it was, Matthias Murray told me what happened. Your old friend Gregory Goyle exonerated your wife."

"What?" Draco's head snapped up in shock. "Goyle…_what?_ What are you talking about?"

"Goyle was there with me, that night at the Riddle House," Lucius said. "He was there when we marked the Weasley girl. He knew what had happened. Goyle has always worked for me, you see. Unfortunately, he was arrested that night, at the Riddle House. He broke out of Azkaban two weeks ago with the others, and was once again arrested when the Aurors turned up. Apparently, when he heard that your wife was being held, he offered information on how she'd received the mark. In return, his sentence has been shortened. He'll be out in two years." Lucius fixed him with a stern look. "Perhaps, when he is, you should thank him."

Draco shook his head. He felt stunned. "But Goyle—he came to the manor once, with Higgs, threatening me—"

"I made sure he was the one to accompany Higgs that day," Lucius said. "So that you or your son wouldn't be harmed."

Draco swallowed. Apparently, he had more friends among the Death Eaters than he'd realized.

"I did want to apologize," Lucius said then.

"Apologize?"

"I was mistaken in Lillian Moon," Lucius said. "And I do apologize, Draco, because I really did believe that your son would be safer with her."

"Yeah, well, so did I," Draco muttered. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. The apology from his father—a rare, unexpected thing—jolted him, as though reminding him how little time he had here, and how rarely he would get to see his father after this, after he was sent to Azkaban. The thought created a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Ginny told me you went to visit Mum at the hospital once," Draco said suddenly. "Have you been since?"

Lucius closed his eyes briefly. "I paid her a visit just before the Death Eaters broke out," he said quietly. He opened his eyes, and sent Draco a swift look. "Have you ever visited her?"

Draco swallowed and shook his head.

An odd look flashed through his father's eyes. "And yet your wife has. And your son."

"What?" Draco said sharply. "What're you talking about?"

"That's where I ran into her, that night at the hospital," Lucius said dryly. "In your mother's ward. She didn't say that she was there to see your mother, but I found it odd that she'd turned up there. I questioned the Healer in residence there before I wiped her memory. Apparently, your wife had visited your mother twice before. Both times with your son." Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps next time, you should go with them."

Draco's jaw tightened. The horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified. "I would," he said, his voice strained, "except that Ginny and I don't actually speak anymore."

Lucius looked at him dispassionately. "Am I supposed to be upset about this?"

Draco scowled. He knew very well that his father didn't care at all about Ginny and his relationship with her. But now that he was here, sitting with him, he couldn't keep his feelings to himself. Potter's words from earlier that day haunted him, and there was an awful feeling inside of him, clawing to get out. "She was angry after I let Lillian Moon take Will," he muttered, "and now—" He broke off, falling silent.

Now, so much had happened between them. So much that was _his_ fault. That's what Potter hadn't understood earlier. That's what Draco couldn't say.

Lucius eyed him silently for a few moments. When he spoke, he sounded as though he were choosing his words carefully. "I won't pretend that I would not be…relieved…to hear that your relationship with the Weasley girl is coming to an end. But—" His father paused, and there was a dark look in his grey eyes, a weary, troubled look. "But I can say—after losing your mother—that it is an awful thing to spend your life alone, Draco." He sighed. "Sometimes I think that is why I grew so careless. Because being free, without your mother—well, it is no freedom at all."

Draco stared at him. He knew, of course, that his father loved his mother—very much so—but he never spoke about his feelings like this. He would have seen that as a weakness.

That horrible monster clawing through Draco reared its head again, and Draco recognized it for what it was—his guilt. Ever-present, all-consuming. Familiar, but terrible.

"But what if I deserve to be alone?" Draco whispered.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Don't be melodramatic, Draco."

"I mean it!" Draco insisted. "I—Dad, I—" He swallowed, unsure how to go on. "I…I've done horrible things, Dad. I don't mean Will, or Ginny…I…" He shut his eyes. "I let those Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and they killed people, hurt people. I tried to kill Dumbledore—I nearly killed two other people doing it, people who were just kids, like me—"

"If you hadn't done any of that, the Dark Lord would have killed you," Lucius said sharply.

"It doesn't matter!" Draco burst out. "Don't you get it? Like that makes it okay? It doesn't, it never could! Ron Weasley and Katie Bell were just kids! What if someone got Will killed by their own stupidity, their own carelessness! What if someone let killers and torturers into his school?"

For a moment, Lucius stared at Draco as though he had grown a second head. As though he were speaking a language that Lucius didn't understand. For Draco's own part, he could scarcely believe that these words were coming from his mouth. He was breathing heavily, as though he'd just run a very long way. And it didn't make him feel any better to say it all. He had thought that it might, but the guilt remained, unaffected, unbroken.

Lucius sighed. "Draco," he said calmly, "do you believe that _I_ deserve to be alone? That I deserve this? To have your mother taken away from me, so cruelly, as she was?"

"What—no," Draco said, shocked by this. "Don't be stupid. Of course not."

"Well, I have done far worse things than you," Lucius said bluntly. "For worse reasons. And without any of this…_remorse_ you have."

Draco snorted incredulously. "You have no remorse? At all?" Somehow, he didn't believe that. "And I suppose you think I'm—stupid, or weak, to feel guilty—"

"No," Lucius interrupted. "If you feel guilty or remorseful for things you've done, well, that is your business. But that doesn't mean you have to spend your life punishing yourself for it. _That_ is stupid. _That_ is weak." Lucius fixed him with a very direct look, and Draco found he could not look away. "I destroyed my life in a quest for power, Draco. Do not destroy yours in a quest for self-destruction."

* * *

It was Saturday night. Ginny sat in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, having a late dinner with Harry, Ron, Tracey, and Adrian. Melanie had already been put to bed.

"So, Ginny," Tracey said. She spoke in a would-be casual tone, though Ginny recognized the tension in her voice. "Is Will coming over tomorrow again?"

Before Ginny could answer, Harry said, "No. He's not."

All eyes at the table turned to him in surprise. Ginny stared at him. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

Harry did not look at Ginny. He was buttering what Ginny thought must have been his fourth slice of bread. "He's not coming over," Harry said calmly, "because you can't stay here any longer. I'm kicking you out."

"You _what?_" Ron spluttered, nearly falling off his chair.

Ginny gaped at him. "You can't do that! This is Order headquarters!"

"Actually, it's my house," Harry corrected her. "So, yes, I can kick you out. Oh, and I've already spoken to Bill, Fred and George, and your parents, and they said you can't stay with them either."

"Harry," Ron said, sounding half-amazed, half-outraged, "what are you on about?"

But Ginny thought she knew. She glared at Harry. "You didn't really speak with them."

"Sure I did."

A sliver of panic sparked through Ginny. "You didn't _really_, did you?" she asked desperately.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, not really." He looked at Ginny now, and his gaze was serious. "But, Gin, this is getting ridiculous. You should go home."

"Are you actually _advocating_ that she go back to Malfoy?" Ron demanded furiously.

"Ron," Tracey said crossly "shut up."

"Don't tell me to shut up, Trace, you shut up!"

"Weasley," Adrian said calmly, "don't talk to my girlfriend like that, or I'm going to have to hex you."

"I'd like to see you try, you two-faced turncoat!"

Ginny ignored them all, her eyes fixed on Harry. He was also ignoring the others, as he looked at Ginny expectantly.

"Harry," she said quietly, "I can't go home."

"Look, forget Malfoy," Harry said. "Talk to him or don't, that's your choice. But don't you think, after what Will has been through, that all this back-and-forth is awfully unfair to him?"

Ginny scowled. "Now you're playing dirty."

"No, I'm being honest." Harry stood from the table. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go check on Mel."

Ginny watched him go, still scowling. As Adrian and Ron continued to trade insults, she stood from the table, gathering dirty dishes to take to the sink. Tracey followed suit, leaving the men behind.

"You know he's right," Tracey said, "don't you?"

"Oh, shut up," Ginny muttered.

But the fact was, Ginny _did_ know that he was right. The first week that she had been here, at Grimmauld Place, she had been so miserable that she absolutely could not consider going back to the townhouse to face Draco. The things he'd said to her echoed in her mind, and every time she recalled them, she wanted to run off to her room and hide.

_"Ginny, you're supposed to worry me about these things, about anything! That's what I'm here for! I'm your husband."_

"I thought we were past all this. But you haven't trusted me with anything, have you? You don't tell me anything, all because you don't think it matters, because you don't think you need to tell me. Because I'm not worth the trouble of confiding in."

But, as the days went on, Ginny found herself growing tired of her own behavior. She was not a hider, she didn't _hide_ from anything, least of all Draco Malfoy. She hadn't let him avoid her before, had she? She'd broken through his stony silences before, and coaxed him into coming back to her, into letting her in. It was different this time—because this time, Draco was angry at her. And he had reason to be—she understood that.

But she also understood that this couldn't go on. Not like this. They had to try to work things out again. For Will, if nothing else.

She flinched, hearing his last words echo in her mind.

_"I don't care. Come home or don't. It doesn't matter to me."_

And as much as it hurt to hear that—as much as it still hurt—Ginny squared her shoulders. "Well," she muttered, "he _said_ he didn't care if I came back."

She didn't tell anyone she was leaving.

* * *

Draco sighed, shoving aside another empty box, kicking it towards the open door. There was a good pile of boxes stacking up in the corridor outside, as he unpacked Will's stuff—things he'd had packed away, when Will first left with Lillian Moon a year and a half ago. Of course, Will had been back for two weeks now, and most of his things from Lillian Moon's were already unpacked—the house-elves had seen to that. But when they'd asked Draco about unpacking the rest of Will's things—the things he'd kept, the things they'd boxed up and stored over a year ago—Draco told them to leave it. He told them he would do it himself.

Two weeks later, and he was only just getting to it. He sat in a dimly-lit room just down the hallway from Will's bedroom, slowly going through each box. The room had grown cold in the late night hours; his nose was numb with the chill. But he wanted to finish this.

He didn't really know why he wanted to do it himself, anyway. The house-elves had boxed it all up in the first place, on his orders. It was house-elves' work, for Merlin's sake.

But for some reason, he wanted to do it himself. Go through it himself.

He remembered how horrified Ginny had been, when she'd come into Will's room and seen all his stuff gone. How angry she had been. _Do you want this?_ she'd asked him then, with tears in her voice. _Like he was never here, like he doesn't even exist—_

Draco hadn't wanted it at all, of course. But it would be too painful, he thought, to come into Will's room everyday, the room that had been Will's, and see all his stuff laid out. Ginny had been right, in a way. It sounded harsh, to say that he wanted to pretend Will didn't exist, and that wasn't quite right—but it was something close to that. Will hadn't been their's anymore, back then. Draco didn't see any point in pretending otherwise.

Maybe that was why he wanted to do this now, for himself. Maybe that was why _he_ wanted to be the one to unpack Will's things. Before, packing up everything had been a way for Draco to force himself to adjust to life without Will. He needed to unpack everything now, to really see it all—to know that Will was back.

And maybe to convince himself that it was all okay.

His jaw tightened a little as he reached for another box. It wasn't _all_ okay—it wasn't all the same. Will was back, but it wasn't like their lives had just gone back to the way it had been before Will left. Because Will was back—but Ginny was gone.

He forced that thought away as he opened the box, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. He'd sort of lost track of time, sitting here in the near-dark, but he knew it must be late. He'd put Will to bed some time ago, and not even Tasher had been up to check on him in the past hour. Still, he wanted to get this done. There weren't too many boxes left.

This latest box was mostly full of things that Will had outgrown, or wouldn't need anymore—clothes that were too small, a few toys he probably wouldn't have much interest in, now that he was older. Draco pulled out a couple of books near the bottom—the Muggle books one of the Weasleys had given him for his first birthday. They were baby books, and _Muggle_ books, which was likely why they had not gone with Will to Lillian's. Draco set them aside with the old toys and reached down for the last thing in the box.

It was a small, blue blanket. Draco recognized it immediately. It was one of the first blankets Will had had as a baby; Pansy had bought it for him, he thought. It had been Will's favorite as a toddler, and even as he got older and the blanket lost its softness, he had been unwilling to part with it. Draco wondered why it hadn't been packed to go to Lillian's, too. He wondered if Will had missed it.

Draco sat back slowly, clenching his fingers around the blanket. He closed his eyes. He knew it was over now; he knew that Will was back and it was all right. But he hated the thought of Will being all alone with that women, and without his blue blanket. Had he missed it, had he cried for it? He was a stoic little child; even if he _had_ missed it, he probably hadn't made a fuss. For some reason, that thought only made Draco feel worse.

Draco had believed he was doing the right thing, at the time. Letting Will go, letting him go with his grandmother. It seemed so stupid now. How could he have believed that Will would be safer with that woman, that he would be better off? He hadn't been, in the end. Will had been kidnapped, _again_, and he'd lost a year with his real parents, too. A fresh surge of guilt rose through Draco, and he felt sick with it.

He tried to push it away, but he didn't know how. He remembered what his father had said, not to let the guilt destroy his life. But how could he manage that? He never used to feel so guilty about everything. He used to know how to block things away. But that seemed so long ago now, and he'd forgotten how to do it. Or maybe he didn't want to anymore, not really.

He thought of all the things he'd done—swearing service to the Dark Lord, trying to kill Dumbledore, letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Putting Will in so much danger, making wrong choice after wrong choice for his son. He thought of Ginny, all the lies, all the secrets he'd kept from her. Taking Will from her. Everything he'd done to her. It felt wretched to admit it, but Potter was right. In the end, anything she'd done was nothing compared to the things he'd done.

How did he manage that? How did he live with that?

He rose to his feet suddenly. It was all too much. The pain in his chest was unbearable, and he didn't know how to get rid of it. He left the dark room behind and trailed down the corridor, the blue baby blanket still clutched in his hand. He didn't know what he was doing, or where he was going, until he was in Will's room.

His son lay asleep in his small bed, a blanket patterned with Snitches and Bludgers and Quaffles pulled up over him, to his chin. His face was turned towards Draco, peaceful and innocent in sleep. He looked perfectly content. Draco swallowed and stepped inside, but he stopped short of Will's bedside. Will was here now, safe and secure and happy. There was no point wallowing in things long done, he knew that.

So why couldn't he get rid of this pain inside him?

"Draco?"

Draco spun around in shock. There should have been no one else in the house except for the house-elves. Only there _was_ someone else, here, now, standing in the doorway.

It was Ginny.

She stood uncertainly there, the dim light of the corridor outlining her silhouette. She wore a pair of brown boots over her faded jeans, and a simple blouse with tiny flowers stitched into it. Her bright red hair looked dark in the shadows, and Draco couldn't entirely read her expression.

"What are you doing here?" he asked hoarsely. He didn't know why his voice sounded so strange.

Ginny stepped forward. Her eyes darted in Will's direction before coming back to him. "You said I could come home—that is, you said it didn't matter if I did." Her voice was pitched low, but there was a defiant look in her eyes. But then she took another step forward, and the defiance melted into concern and confusion. "Draco, are you all right? What are you doing?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" Draco snapped. His voice still sounded weird. "Can't I even look in on my own son if I—"

"Draco." Ginny took another step forward, bringing herself within inches of him. She tilted her head as she reached up. Before Draco could stop her, she lay her fingers against his cheek. They were cold, just like his nose. "Draco, you're crying."

Draco flinched, stepping back out of her reach. He was not crying. That was ridiculous. But when he reached his own hand up and felt his face, his cheek was wet. He blinked slowly, feeling the wetness on his lashes, too.

He _was_ crying. He hadn't even realized it.

"What's it to you?" he mumbled, quickly wiping the tears from his face.

"I—" Ginny paused, going quiet for a moment. Draco refused to look at her, so he had no idea what she was thinking. "That's Will's blanket," she said finally.

Draco looked down, realizing he still had the blue blanket in his hand. "I was bringing it to him," he said, which was not entirely true. He turned his back on Ginny and crossed the room. Carefully, he tucked the blanket into the bed, beside his sleeping son. Will didn't even stir. Draco straightened and stood still, watching his son, watching the steady rise and fall of his little chest. He stood there for several long moments.

Tears returned to his eyes before he could stop them. He didn't even know where they were coming from. Hastily, he wiped them away. _Damn it_, what was wrong with him?

"Draco," Ginny said softly. Draco started; she'd come right up behind him, and he hadn't even heard her. "Draco, he's fine."

"I know he is," Draco shot back in a whisper. He wiped at his eyes again.

"Come on," Ginny said, taking his arm and giving it a gentle tug. "Let him sleep."

Grudgingly, Draco allowed her to lead him out of Will's room. As soon as she had, he wrenched away from her and stalked down the corridor, back towards the room with all of the boxes.

"Draco," Ginny said, following after him.

"I said you could come home," Draco said crossly, working his way past the pile of empty boxes and back into the dark storage room. "I didn't say I had to talk to you."

"That's too bad," Ginny said, coming into the room behind him, "because you're going to, anyway. Or at least, you're going to listen to me talk to you."

Wearily, Draco turned to face her. A part of him was so _tired_ of this. So tired of pushing her away, so tired of being angry with her. Another part of him was still unwilling to let his defenses down, but he was becoming increasingly afraid that they wouldn't hold much longer anyway. He felt raw, jittery, unstable.

"Fine," Draco said shakily. He sank back onto a pile of boxes, too exhausted to stand any longer. "Talk."

But Ginny didn't talk, not right away. If she was uncertain or afraid at all, she didn't look it. She only looked thoughtful, as though trying to decide what to say. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the Mark."

Draco shrugged bitterly. "You said that before."

Ginny pursed her lips. "I know," she said, a touch of annoyance in her voice. "But I didn't tell you why I kept it from you. You asked, if you'll remember," she added. "Several times. But I didn't give you an answer." She took a deep breath. "I didn't really know why. But…I do now."

Draco crossed his arms. "And?"

"I was afraid," Ginny said simply.

Draco flinched. That was exactly what Potter had said, as Draco recalled. _It's not that Ginny doesn't trust you. It's that she's afraid of you. She's afraid to lose you._ Pushing his annoyance aside that Potter may have been right, Draco said, "Afraid of what?"

Ginny stepped forward, until she stood a few feet from him. "I was afraid that if I told you, you'd—" She broke off, shaking her head. "I was afraid of what you'd…think. I was afraid you'd be angry," she said softly. "Like you are now. I was afraid of pushing you away."

"Did it ever occur to you," Draco said, frustration edging his voice, "that I _wouldn't_ have been angry, if you'd just told me in the first place? When it first happened, after we got out of the Riddle House?"

"No," Ginny said, "it didn't."

"Why the bloody hell not?" Draco demanded. "It's not like it was your fault, Ginny. Why should I have been angry about it? You agreed to it because you had to. You did what you had to. Don't you see that?"

Ginny raised her hands in a vague, helpless gesture. "You make it sound so simple now."

"It is. It should have been."

"Draco," Ginny said wryly. She looked up, meeting his eyes. "This may come as a shock to you, but I'm not the most trusting person in the world."

"No, really?" Draco said dryly. "I know you don't trust me, Ginny. That's not news."

"No, you've got it wrong." Ginny took another step forward. Her dark eyes were bright and fierce, as though she were determined to make him understand. "You've got it all wrong. It's not just you, Draco. If I've been afraid to trust you, it's not because of anything you've done. I don't trust _anyone_ easily. I never have." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Not since I was a child, anyway."

"We all trust more easily when we're children," Draco pointed out.

"No, this is different." She crossed her arms over her chest, hunching in on herself, and she evaded his gaze. "I used to be more trusting. I used to be _too_ trusting. Until your dad slipped me that diary when I was eleven, and I spent the year spilling my whole heart out to Voldemort."

Draco flinched, not just for the name, but for the mention of his father. He knew about the diary incident, of course, but Ginny had never, ever mentioned it to him. She'd never spoken of it, not once.

"And don't go feeling guilty about it," she said quickly, and it was like she'd read his mind, "because it wasn't your doing, and that's not why I'm bringing it up. I'm just trying to explain…. Draco, I poured my heart and soul out to that diary, and I nearly died because of it. Other people nearly died, and Voldemort could have come back a full two years earlier than he did because of it. I made the hugest mistake, trusting where I did. Can't you see why it's so hard for me to trust anyone now?"

Draco swallowed. "Especially anyone ever affiliated with the Dark Lord."

"Stop it!" Ginny snapped. She stepped forward, quickly closing the distance between them, and took him by the shoulders. The folds of his silk shirt crinkled between her fingers. "Stop making this about you! It's _not_, that's what I'm trying to tell you! Draco, I'm _sorry_ I lied to you, I'm sorry I kept things from you, but—I'm not perfect. That's what I'm trying to say. If I've mistrusted you, Draco, it's only because I was afraid of _losing_ you—not because of anything you've done. Can't you see that?"

Draco made a small noise of disbelief. "You've never mistrusted me for anything I've done?" he scoffed.

"Not since before I knew you," Ginny insisted. "Since I _really_ knew you. Draco, look at me." She shook him a little, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry. I've tried to explain, and there's nothing else I can say." She swallowed visibly. "Can you forgive me?"

The vulnerability in her eyes was too much. Draco tried to summon his anger, to push back at her, but he was all burnt out. The walls he'd built up against her crumbled like dried-up clay. He opened his mouth to say something hurtful, to tell her no, he could not forgive her. But what he said instead was, "How can you possibly be asking me to forgive you when I'm the one who needs forgiving?"

Ginny looked surprised, but she couldn't have been more surprised than Draco himself was. No, not surprised. Shocked. Shocked that those words had come out of his mouth, shocked to realize that that was where all his anger had gone.

"Forgiving for what?" Ginny asked softly.

Draco's gaze slid away from her. The single light in the room cast a dim glow over her face, and he could not bear the sympathy in her eyes. "For everything," he said hoarsely. To his horror, he felt a familiar stinging in his eyes, tears welling up again. "For lying to you. For taking Will from you. For what I did back in school, nearly killing your brother and letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts—"

"_Draco_," Ginny said, her voice shocked and concerned. Her hands tightened around his shoulders, her grip almost bruising.

"Ginny, I don't know how you trust me at all," Draco said miserably. "I don't know—I don't know how to do this," he finished helplessly. "I don't know how to live like this."

Ginny didn't say anything right away. One of her hands slipped up his neck to his face. "Draco, please look at me." In spite of her _please_, her words sounded more like a command, and as though he'd been put under the Imperius Curse, Draco looked at her reluctantly.

"I do trust you. I love you," she said firmly. It almost hurt to hear her say it, but she held his gaze, and Draco could see the truth of her words in her brown eyes. "And I forgive you—for anything that you've done. I know it all, don't I? No more secrets?"

"No," Draco whispered. "No more secrets."

"And none for me, either," Ginny said. "Draco, I know everything you've done, _and I forgive you._ The only thing left to do is for you to forgive yourself."

Draco shuddered. "I don't know _how_."

"It may not be easy," Ginny said simply. "I can tell you all sorts of reasonable things, that it wasn't all your fault, that you were young, that we all make mistakes, that you thought you were doing the right thing. I don't know if any of that will help." She slid her hand down from his face, curling her fingers around the back of his neck. "But I do know that pushing away the people that love you—pushing _me_ away—isn't going to help at all. I did that to my own family, when I was hurting, and it only made things worse." Her fingers tickled the hair at the nape of his neck. "So please, _please_ don't push me away. Punishing yourself—it's not worth it."

Draco closed his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath. His father had said nearly the same thing, but it was different, hearing it from Ginny. It meant something different from her. He couldn't just let go of his guilt, not all at once. But in that moment, in the circle of Ginny's arms, he let go of _something_. All the grief he'd put himself through, everything he'd built up to keep her out—he let it all go. He'd carried it around for so long that it felt like a piece of him falling away, but the shocking void it left was immediately filled with something else.

With Ginny. With her love, and her trust, for him.


	14. Epilogue

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Reminder – the epilogue and the previous chapter were posted together, so be sure you have read the last chapter before you read this epilogue – otherwise, you might be quite confused!

A big thanks to everyone who has followed and read this fic! I'm not one of those writers who will only write for reviews, but the constant praise and reminders I've received from readers has certainly helped. Thank you!

* * *

"_**Forgiveness is the economy of the heart…**__ Forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, and the waste of spirits." - Hannah More_

Ginny smiled impishly as she, Will, and Draco approached the front door of the Burrow. The sun shone brightly overhead in a clear sky, leaving the air cold and crisp this Christmas day. "Thank you for coming along with us," Ginny said sweetly.

Draco scowled, and when he spoke, the air in front of him misted with his breath. "Stuff it, Weasley."

"I mean it," Ginny protested.

"It's just this once," Draco warned. He shivered, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Just this once, because you asked—never again. I don't care if I have to spend Christmas alone."

Ginny coughed to disguise a laugh. "Of course."

Draco glared suspiciously at her.

"It's just that Ron's back," Ginny said by way of explanation. Even though she had already explained this to him several times, in her attempts to convince him to come. "For the first time in—"

"—years and years, I know." Draco rolled his eyes.

"And there will be so many people there," Ginny said breezily, "almost no one will notice you, anyway."

"Wanna bet?" Draco muttered.

Ginny smiled. She and Will had stopped by the Burrow on Christmas in years past, but Draco never, ever came with them. Truthfully, most of her family was probably as pleased by this as Draco himself was, and really, future Christmases with Draco and her family together was not something she really wanted, either. But after the year they'd had, and with everyone back together now, a wild sense of sentimentality had seized her, and she'd bullied Draco into coming along for Christmas lunch this year.

Ginny paused at the door, looking between Draco and Will. "Ready?" she said brightly.

"Ready!" Will said enthusiastically, punching the air with a small fist.

Draco grunted noncommittally, a sour expression on his face. Ginny stifled another smile, knocked briefly, and then pushed the door open, leading them inside. "Hello?" Ginny called, as Draco and Will followed in behind her. The warmth of the house enveloped Ginny as the door shut behind them, and she sighed in contentment as she removed her gloves.

Somewhat unluckily, the first two people that bounded out from the living room to greet them were Fred and George. Even though Ginny had let everyone know that Draco would be coming, Ginny braced herself for unpleasant reactions from the twins. But to her surprise, they both grinned broadly.

"Malfoy!" George exclaimed. "Just the person I've been waiting for all morning!"

"Draco, old chap!" Fred clapped Draco on the back enthusiastically—and hard, judging by the way Draco winced and rubbed his shoulder. "Really excellent to see you here!"

"Why is that?" Draco asked warily.

"Well," George said pleasantly, "Fred and I were talking the other day—"

"—and it just so happens your name came up," Fred put in.

"We realized," George continued smoothly, "that we never did get to finish that Quidditch match of ours."

Draco's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Our Quidditch match? Our Quidditch match from nearly _two years_ ago?"

"Yes," Fred said. "The one Ginny interrupted by falling off her broom."

"As though it was my fault!" Ginny said indignantly.

"So we were thinking," Fred went on, ignoring this protest from Ginny, "that it's about time we finished it. Are you free tomorrow?"

"You _do_ want to finish it, don't you?" George asked, his eyes narrowing. "Or would you rather not risk it?"

Draco's eyes flashed. Ginny groaned inwardly.

"Of course I want to finish it," Draco said. His grey eyes gleamed competitively. "Tomorrow works just fine."

"Good," Fred said brusquely. "And we've got two new players, so we can play with Bludgers this time. Will you be wanting Ron on your team, or Harry?"

Draco looked like he was trying not to choke on that. Luckily, Will interrupted and spared his father's reply by tugging on George's hand. "James?" he demanded.

"Ah, he's out back with Victoire and Mel," George said, smiling down at Will. "C'mon, I'll show you." He led the little blond boy off, and with one last smug look for Draco, Fred followed.

Ginny stared at them in dismay. "They didn't even say hi to me!"

"Count yourself lucky," Draco groused. "Well, come on, are we doing this or not?"

The rest of the family was either in the kitchen or watching the children play out back—Ginny's parents, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, and, of course—Ron and Harry. Tonks and Remus had come too, and with a dark look for Ron and Harry, Draco made a beeline for Tonks. Ginny smiled, amused, as she headed over to greet Ron and Harry with hugs and wishes of 'Merry Christmas.'

"I still can't quite believe you're both here," Ginny said to the both of them. "After so many Christmases without you both—"

"Yeah," Ron said, "it's great to be back." His expression did not quite match his words, however.

"Still no word from Hermione?" Ginny said gravely.

Harry shook his head. "We've sent her Patronuses and owls, but we haven't heard anything back." He shot Ron a quick look. "Still, I'm sure she's fine. She could be anywhere, after all. Halfway across the world. It might take her awhile—"

"It's been more than two weeks since I've been back," Ron said glumly.

"I'm sure she's fine, Ron," Ginny assured him.

Ron grunted. He threw an annoyed glance in Draco's direction. "Did you really have to bring _him_ along?"

"Yes," Ginny said flatly. "And before you say anything rude, you might remember that _he_ spent years trying to track you down. For me. Since _you_ couldn't be bothered to let us know where you were—"

"I did! I can't help it if you didn't get my messages—"

Harry cleared his throat loudly. "I think lunch is ready."

The table was packed in, even though space had been added on for everyone. Draco and Ginny sat near one end next to Charlie; Will was seated with the rest of the children down near the other end, and quite happily so, judging by his animated expression as he interacted with Melanie, James, and Victoire. They were all so big now, Ginny thought, especially James, the eldest, at five years old. It was hard to believe so much time had passed since they'd all been born.

They were all set to eat when a knock on the door sounded out. Ginny's mother looked around in confusion. "Who could that be?"

To Ginny's surprise—and everyone else's, judging by their expressions—Draco shot to his feet. "I'll get it," he said quickly, vanishing from the room in a flash.

Ginny stared after him, lost for words.

"Don't tell me," Ron muttered, "he invited some old Slytherin pal to _our_ Christmas dinner—"

"Don't be stupid, Ron," Ginny shot back. She heard the front door open and Draco's muffled greeting to whoever it was, though she couldn't hear what he was saying. "He's probably just—"

But Ron, seated closest to the foyer, suddenly stood, nearly toppling his chair over in his haste. His face went pale and his eyes were wide. He turned in the direction Draco had gone, taking half a step. "It can't be—"

Just then, Draco reappeared at the kitchen entrance. And beside him stood—

"_Hermione!_" Ginny exclaimed. Her cry was echoed by several others at the table as they all stared at their old friend in astonishment.

Ron didn't say anything. He only stumbled forward, threw his arms around Hermione, and kissed her.

Draco hopped away from them as though he were standing on a hot plate, a revolted expression on his face.

What seemed like a long minute later, Hermione pulled back from Ron. There were tears on her face, and a big smile, too. "I can't believe you're really here," she said hoarsely. "I can't believe you're _alive_."

"Join the club," Ron said, grinning.

Harry cleared his throat, coming around the table. "We're all here too, you know."

"Harry!" Hermione cried. She pulled him into a hug as well, and then everyone was up and gathered around her, exchanging tearful hugs. Ginny wanted to greet her too, but she hung back for the moment and joined Draco, who had retreated into the kitchen and was nicking bites of pudding.

"You did this," she accused him, "didn't you?"

"Did what?" Draco asked blankly.

"Got Hermione here, of course!" Ginny said, exasperated. "You found her or got word to her or—or something! You knew it was her when you got up from the table."

Draco widened his eyes innocently, but before he could respond, Hermione said from behind them, "Yes, it was him."

Everyone fell silent, looking between Hermione and Draco. Draco shot her a glare, but if that was meant to keep Hermione silent, it didn't work. "Malfoy said you'd all been sending me owls and Patronuses," Hermione said, "but I'm afraid I didn't receive any of them. I was laying really low—I'd had some Death Eaters on my tail a little while back. Malfoy's contact was the first I'd heard that you were back here, Ron."

"I didn't even know you were trying to find her," Ginny said, looking at Draco in amazement.

Draco shrugged. He looked quite disgruntled at being outed like this in front of everyone, shifting his weight and not quite meeting anyone's eyes. "I spent all that bloody time hunting _him_ down," he said sullenly, throwing a nod in Ron's direction. "I wasn't going to let it all go to waste."

"But how did your word get through when ours didn't?" Ron demanded.

Draco shrugged again, his expression a little smug now. "I have channels of communication open to me that you don't, Weasley. _Legal_ channels," he added, when Harry shot him a speculative look.

"Hang on," Fred interrupted, "what do you mean you spent time hunting Ron down?"

A short silence met his words. Ginny's eyes widened as she realized she had never mentioned that Draco had looked for Ron—she didn't really think he'd have wanted her to, and besides, in the end the word that Ron was alive had come from somewhere else.

Or so she thought.

"Malfoy came to me over two years ago," Hermione explained, "because he'd found some evidence that Ron might be alive. It took a long time, but he eventually got Bellatrix to admit that Ron had escaped the Death Eaters."

Ginny blinked. "Wait—that was _you_?" She rounded on Draco, shock and gratitude mingling within her. "The Ministry only said a Death Eater admitted it in questioning—they never said it was you that found out!"

"They promised they wouldn't," Draco said darkly, glaring at Hermione. "Much good it does me now!"

"Oh, really, Malfoy." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Is it really such a pain to let people know the good you've done? I'm not saying it can wipe out the past—"

"I know it can't," Draco mumbled, looking at the floor.

"—but after all you've done to help me and Ron, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones," she said firmly. "So will you just accept that we're even and let it be?"

"I guess so," Draco said sourly. "But don't think I'm doing you anymore favors, Granger, because I—" Whatever else he was going to say was lost as Ginny's mother suddenly stepped forward and enveloped him in a tight hug. Draco's eyes went so wide, Ginny thought they were going to pop out of his face. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley said, tears in her voice, "for bringing my son back to me."

"Yeah, thanks, Malfoy," George said grudgingly. "I don't have to hug you, do I?"

"Please don't," Draco said weakly, as Ginny's mother finally let him go. "Can't we just eat already?"

"Eat, eat!" Will and James cheered simultaneously.

"Yes, let's," Arthur Weasley said, though Ginny thought he looked like he was trying very hard not to smile.

Sometime later—quite a bit later, after everyone was stuffed full of turkey, parsnips, and pudding—Ginny left Hermione and her mother in the kitchen to step outside, onto the back porch. Draco sat there alone, watching the children play. Ginny stopped for a moment before joining him, taking in the sight of him. He wore a dark green sweater with no coat, though the light wind was icy in the darkening day. His pale cheeks were red with the cold.

As though sensing her behind him, Draco glanced up, over his shoulder. "You'd think they'd be tired by now," he said, tossing a nod in the childrens' direction. "I could certainly do with a nap."

Ginny stepped forward, and lowered herself onto the step beside him. "Me too," she said, tugging on the ends of her red scarf. She smiled mischievously and leaned over, planting a kiss on Draco's cold cheek.

He frowned suspiciously. "What was that for?"

Ginny leaned back on her hands. "Oh, that was just my way of saying thank you," she said innocently, "to the great hero, Draco Malfoy—"

"Oh, don't," Draco grumbled, looking away.

Ginny laughed. She looked out at Will, who was chasing after Victoire with James, while Mel looked on from a little ways away. The yard looked gray in the oncoming dusk, bits of frost clinging to the sparse grass, hazy clouds hanging low in the violet sky. Ginny rubbed her hands over her cold face, then clasped them together for warmth.

"Draco," she said suddenly, "there's something I have to tell you."

Draco looked at her warily. His eyes were dark in the low light. "What?"

Ginny swallowed. "Actually, it's—another secret I've kept from you."

A muscle twitched in Draco's jaw, his expression tightening with suspicion and unease.

"But not really on purpose," Ginny added hastily. She shrugged an uncomfortable shoulder. "It's just, it's been such a long while, and—and I sort of forgot, and, well…" She sighed. "All right, if I'm being honest, I'd never really planned to tell you. But we did say no secrets, and—"

"Ginny," Draco said irritably, "will you just tell me already?" A trace of apprehension laced his words.

"Well," Ginny began. She blew out a long breath, watching it visualize in the chilly air before her. "Remember, when Will was born, and I brought him to you? And you asked what Carina had wanted to name him, and I told you—I told you she wanted to name him William."

Draco nodded slowly, looking confused.

"I—I lied," Ginny said in a rush. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know what Carina wanted to name him. She never told me, and I didn't mean to, I was _going_ to tell you that I didn't know—but then you wanted to name him _Scorpius_, which, I'm sorry, is a gods-awful name, everyone would have made fun of it just like they made fun of _your_ name—so I just blurted it out—" She stopped suddenly. "Because—that's what I would have named my son," she said in a small voice. "William. After—after Bill. I—I named your son after my brother." She stopped then, and looked over at Draco tentatively.

Draco only stared at her. A flicker of emotions passed over his face, too quickly for Ginny to process them all—shock, incredulity, indignation, annoyance. Then his face went quite blank, and Ginny couldn't tell what he was thinking at all.

"Are—are you angry?" she ventured.

"Not _everyone_ made fun of my name," Draco said icily. "There's nothing wrong with my name."

"No, no—of course not." Ginny fidgeted with her hands, daring a quick glance at him. "Erm—aren't you going to say anything else?"

"About what?"

"About what I just told you!" Ginny said, exasperated. She turned fully to face him. "About me naming Will!"

Draco shrugged. "Why should I be angry about that?" he said simply. "You're his mother. And as I told you then, he should be named by his mother. It's only right."

Ginny blinked. A warm, ridiculous feeling blossomed within her, like a little ray of sunshine in her chest. He couldn't possibly know what it meant to her to hear him say that—then again, she thought, maybe he did.

"Thank you," she said softly. She took his hand, threading her fingers through his, and leaned against his shoulder. His sweater was soft against her cheek.

"Yeah, well," Draco said. He turned his face towards her, gazing down at her through his long eyelashes, and his warm breath tickled her nose. "If you really wanted to give me a _proper_ thank you…"

"Well," Ginny said, lifting her face, ever so slightly, "maybe just this once. It is Christmas after all."

"Yes," Draco said, his lips brushing hers, "it is."

As Ginny kissed him, she felt, for the first time in a long while, that she was safe, and content, and secure. No longer afraid, no longer chased by the ghosts of her past. She wasn't perfect, and neither was Draco. But together, maybe, they could be.

THE END

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**End Notes: ** That's it! I hope you liked it. If you're interested in any future fics I may write, check out the latest post on my fic journal at livejournal – username is rainywinters.


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